


La Petale Soyeux & La Petite Souris

by Snowy38



Category: Harry Styles - Fandom, Larry Stylinson - Fandom, Louis Tomlinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Around 1800s, Fluff, France (Country), French Louis, French Speaking, M/M, Pauper!Louis, Secret Relationship, Shoe-maker Louis, old times, prince!harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2018-10-02 17:16:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 47,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10223228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowy38/pseuds/Snowy38
Summary: "What did the Prince have in mind?""Gaudy," the man recited confidently. "With baubles and sequins.""Baubles!" Kenneth spluttered into a hearty laugh.Louis himself let a smile curl over his small lips. He pushed his long fringe away from his eyes as though seeing better would help him hear better. He knew of the rumours of course. He had heard the Prince liked pretty boys. Louis had accepted long ago that he himself was a catamite, a man who wished to sodomise other men. He was excited at the thought of Royal blood exposing themselves in such a blatant flaunted way.Louis began to imagine the baubles he might use to decorate such a pair of shoes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey people!
> 
> With thanks as always to my muse, Julie.
> 
> Please note this is not historically accurate, I have taken a generalisation of the late 1800's but this is by no means precise.
> 
> Hope you enjoy, please leave a comment :)
> 
> In loving memory of French Louis from 'That's me in the spotlight' and Prince Harry from 'Wear it Like a Crown'.
> 
> Ang
> 
> p.s apologies for any Google translate inconsistencies. The title should read 'The soft petal & the little mouse'.

 

h

 

 

"I should prefer the red cravat, Liam Payne."

 

"Why must you insist on addressing me by my full name, Your Majesty?" Liam's tone was one of fond resignation as he no longer frustrated over the matter which he had argued for two years whilst employed as an aide to the Crown Prince.

 

"I merely address you in the same manner which you address me," the Prince replied with a purse of his bowed pink lips to cover his amusement. He went as far to adjust his own cuffs before Liam had a chance to.

 

"Your Majesty, my choices are very slim in the matter. Should your father catch me calling you anything other than Your Majesty then my head should go for the stocks."

 

"Sir would suffice," the Prince suggested. "Harry would be preferable."

 

"My head being placed on my shoulders rather than rolling on the floor should be preferable, Sir."

 

As if mentioning the King should conjure him, Robin Styles the Third appeared in the doorway, knocking only briefly before entering.

 

"Payne, you're getting far too relaxed in your duty," Robin said to him. "You shall address my son as His Majesty..."

 

Liam shot a wounded look to the Prince pointedly and he laughed.

 

"Father I instructed him to address me as such. At threat of my sword and musket."

 

Robin stared at his son awhile.

 

"I should not know what to do with you, Harold."

 

Harry stepped down from his dressing place and twirled in an expert pirouette. 

 

"You should put me in a music box, Father...The prettiest one you can find."

 

Robin rolled his eyes; for he was a much kinder man than his demeanour suggested.

 

"I should remind you that we have the Princess of Sweden awaiting your presence in the grand hall," he uttered bemusedly.

 

Harry stilled, his smile and flaunty pose dropping.

 

"You have not promised her my hand in marriage have you, Father?"

 

Robin stared at his son forebodingly but Harry kept his gaze. His green eyes were steely in the resolve they held.

 

"I have not," Robin confirmed then added more lightly as he turned to exit. "But for the fact she dislikes the ballet!"

 

Harry gave his aide- his friend - a look. He swallowed heavily, fingers untying the royal blue silk scarf from his neck.

 

"I wish to wear red," Harry stated.

 

"But sir-" 

 

"Liam Payne." Harry inserted smoothly with a hint of the booming authority his voice could hold when required.

 

"The red cravat, Sir. Very good."

 

Liam moved to attend to him as specified.

 

//

 

"These slippers are simply divine..." Harry turned his breeched leg to admire the perfectly exquisite shoes adorning his feet, slipped on over his high socks.

 

They had a heel, naturally; as was the fashion. They were black and bore a buckle. But the material was quite soft like nubuck fur. And it was embroidered with the most perfect floral design.

 

"I wish for more of these, from where did they appear?"

 

The truth was that the King had ordered them especially from the shoe maker in town and had a shop boy bring them to the palace. The truth was; Liam had made friends with the boy (Louis, from France, with but the softest remains of an accent) and had requested he come back at his earliest convenience.

 

Liam merely relayed to Harry that they came from the shoe maker at all.

 

"I wish for him to make me a pair for the summer ball. As gaudy as he likes..."

 

Liam gave his boss a look that suggested he was acting like the spoiled, entitled brat he was born and bred to be.

 

"Your Majesty, I do not think a week is sufficient time for a brand new pair of shoes to be fashioned-"

 

Harry twirled his hand in the air, tossing away his long hair as he stuck his nose in the air.

 

"I am certain he has something he can use already. He merely needs to add as many sequins and baubles to them as he can manage..."

 

Liam arched a brow.

 

"If you are set on this course of action, Sir..."

 

"Gaudy slippers," Harry nodded. "I insist on it."

 

Liam bowed.

 

"May I be excused to arrange a messenger to be sent from the palace?"

 

Harry sighed.

 

"I suppose that ought to be allowed."

 

Liam watched him flop into a chair in the parlour beside the master bedroom. It acted as something of a walk-in closet for the Prince.

 

"Do not worry of me dear Liam! I am perfectly capable of keeping my own entertainment whilst you are gone!"

 

Liam muttered "That is why I worry so," as he left the room.

 

//

 

There had been, on occasion, the odd rumour about the Prince and his charming demeanour. In some parts of the realm he was merely known as such: Prince Charming.

 

In others, it was whispered that he in fact liked pinching the bottoms of the court boys and engaging in that same flirtatious manner, often to the unease of his object of affection.

 

Liam had witnessed the Prince lust over the odd young man who took his fancy, had chaperoned when the Prince had called for such boys to entertain him. That usually involved them tidying the room or making the Prince his afternoon tea and nothing of the improper sort that most presumed.

 

Liam was also the only person who the Prince spoke openly to about his desires for those of the same sex as himself. He was the only man Harry confided in and it was forced when Liam had found the Prince once quite by accident in a compromising position- huddled up in the pantry with the stable-hand, hair a mess and lips ruddied.

 

Liam knew of the bohemian lifestyle of course. He came from a modest family; his Father a Butler to a rich family in the south and his Mother a seamstress. He had been lucky enough to learn something of the world before being hand picked by Harry himself to attend him and entering the palace gates that first day had felt like winning a gold ticket to life.

 

Watching the Prince now, subtly for his gaze must stay at the ground unless he was called, he wished Harry's naive heart hadn't had to harden the way it did in moments like this.

 

Moments where the Prince was forced to sit through achingly awkward meetings with Princesses from other countries who were clearly sent to catch his fancy with the intention of becoming one day, the Queen of England. 

 

Liam knew the banquet was only in its early stages, only a few courses in but already time was stretching out longer than thin bread dough that was intended to be plaited for fresh baking.

 

He ached to say, "Sir," to call Harry by his name and free him from the death-like hold his obligations had on him. He was the Crown Prince and future King. He was not allowed to like men, to flirt with them or fall in love. He was limited to a life of enforced strategic marriage with a female who he held no love or passion for and he was obliged to churn out a couple of children to continue the throne.

 

Liam bowed his head deeper and prayed as the Royal party commenced on the main course- a rich beef dish that he would get to taste the remains of later.

 

//

 

"You insolent boy!"

 

The plate which had been placed on the floor in front of him whirled as it was kicked away: the beaker of brown water flying with it.

 

Louis looked up at his boss and scrambled to his feet, hands going around his neck to strangle him (a move he was quite practiced with).

 

"I make five pairs of shoes a day! You take one hundred guineas for the lot and you feed me stale bread and dirty water! What was your expectation, Sire?"

 

Kenneth, his boss, was a bigger and weightier man. He wrestled Louis under his arm and tightened his elbow around his neck. Louis bit his stinking armpit only to be pressed into the cold wall of the dungeon in which he was kept.

 

"You do not deserve even a grub to eat you little scallion. See if going hungry and thirsty will cause your gratitude for what I give you!" He harrumphed as he pushed Louis away, stalking towards the iron gate which locked to keep Louis inside the stone walls of the basement.

 

"Next time you free me I shall not return!" Louis called as the rotund man with the ugly face and thinning hair made to the stairs.

 

"There may not be a next time," he warned as he climbed the steps breathlessly.

 

//

 

Louis could hear voices. He had heard the horse's approach on the cobblestones outside his prison, the small grated window offering him the tiniest view onto the street.

 

Often a wash of water would flush down; sometimes rancid and filthy. He had waited then to see who the horse rider was and what their visit regarded.

 

"I have been sent by the Prince's first man. He has expressed his pleasure in receiving your shoes. He wishes to have a pair made for the ball. It occurs a week Friday, is it possible for you to do so?"

 

Louis smirked. _Of course it was possible_. He would be flogged to ensure it.

 

Kenneth's voice was lower and harder to make out.

 

"What did the Prince have in mind?"

 

The messenger must have opened a script for a few moments of hesitation occurred.

 

"Gaudy," the man recited confidently. "With baubles and sequins."

 

"Baubles!" Kenneth spluttered into a hearty laugh.

 

Louis himself let a smile curl over his small lips. He pushed his long fringe away from his eyes as though seeing better would help him _hear_ better. He knew of the rumours of course. He had heard the Prince liked pretty boys. Louis had accepted long ago that he himself was a catamite, a man who wished to sodomise other men. He was excited at the thought of Royal blood exposing themselves in such a blatant and flaunted way.

 

Louis began to imagine the baubles he might use to decorate such a pair of shoes.

 

"And the colour?" He heard Kenneth ask.

 

"The Prince is to wear pastel pink at the ball," the messenger relayed.

 

Louis could already pick out in his mind all the beautiful buckles and embroidered flowers he could add, the fake jewels and glittering sequins. He crawled to where his dry bread lay in the stream of his turned-over water, the rind having soaked up the liquid to make it a soggy but edible mess.

 

Louis swallowed it down and prayed the Kenneth would let him deliver the shoes to the palace himself.

 

//

 

Harry had decided to take a walk in the grounds of the palace, Liam following quietly behind him, hands tucked into the small of his back.

 

He stopped at the crest of the lawn which sloped down to the fish pond.

 

"Liam Payne."

 

Liam's head snapped up from autonomy, instantly looking alive.

 

"Yes, Sir?"

 

"Come forth," Harry permitted.

 

Liam stood beside him and shared the view of the garden.

 

"Are the people happy?" He asked.

 

Liam's brows arched, surprised at the question.

 

"I believe the majority are, Sir."

 

Harry was pleased that his aide now referred to him as _Sir_ when they were alone; but he still yearned to be called something else. Something nobody called him. _Harry_.

 

"And what of the minority who are not happy? What can be done?"

 

Liam swallowed; afraid to tell the truth. He had once been boxed on the ear after telling the King that the poor should have a ration of the leftover food from the palace. He rubbed his ear in silent memory of that injury.

 

"I am not certain I have the answer, Your Majesty."

 

Harry turned to him, lips turning down in the corners. He didn't wear his tri-corner on jaunts such as this and his hair was long and wavy. It made him look young under the bright sky. It made him look less regal.

 

"You do know but you are afraid to say."

 

"Your father has reminded me of my position at the Palace, Sir."

 

"I am not my father."

 

"What has piqued one's curiosity if you do not mind me asking?" Liam asked instead.

 

"Yesterday I took it upon myself to adorn a disguise and attend the farmer's market," Harry began conversationally. "I wanted to see what the trading prices were and what quality the meat was."

 

Liam again frowned at his boss.

 

"You sneaked out, Sir? Into the market place? You could have been killed!"

 

"Why would anyone want me dead?" Harry asked back. 

 

Liam smirked.

 

"For having grandeur and privilege, sir."

 

"It is just as well I wore a disguise, then."

 

"What did you see at the market, Sir?"

 

Harry's face changed into something less innocent. Something dark and pained.

 

"I saw boys who looked to be starving, Liam. I saw girls stealing days-old bread from the dirt...I saw a great many things that I never imagined to see at all..."

 

"Be glad that isn't your fate then, Sir. You have venison for dinner tonight, that will warm your cockles."

 

Harry peered at Liam for a long moment, licking his balmed lips. The balm was imported from Asia, made of whale blubber and flavoured with rose petals. He wondered now what it cost to import.

 

"If I had the means...If we could help somehow," Harry whispered. "What would we do? How do we make it better?"

 

Liam twisted his lips, moving his hands from behind his back to fiddle with his fingers.

 

"We need to find the people work, sir. Build them small cottages they can afford to live in. Provide them with food until they can make their own living."

 

"As simple as that?" Harry fixed his narrowed eyes on his aide.

 

"You can find them work?" He shot back then bit his lip to curb his question.

 

Harry gazed into the distance.

 

"There is plenty of work that can be created by the rich. Plenty of jobs that can be done. I need someone to quaff my hair for a start..."

 

"But, Sir, you have your wigs..."

 

Harry had turned and started back up the slope of the lawn leaving Liam lagging behind.

 

Harry flicked his hand dismissively at Liam's statement.

 

"Old fashion. I am starting a new one. I am to style my own hair under my hat."

 

Liam followed him up to the house with a hidden smile.

 

//

 

 

Louis was breathless and rather hot by the time he reached the pinnacle of the steps that led to the palace gates.

 

The last time he had visited it had been a much colder day and he had taken off his jacket to leave his waistcoat and shirt.

 

He didn't dare repeat that faux-pas because he'd been reprimanded by the gate-master and tripped upon entering.

 

He now owned ripped breeches and a scar on his forearm to accompany the bruises that permanently etched his ribs.

 

"Bonjour, monsieur," he greeted as he approached, the same greeting he gave everyone.

 

Because although Louis started his life in France and was moved to England at five years old, he still liked to cling to his heritage, a heritage he was very proud of.

 

Louis' family had been shoemakers for several hundred years. He had never known his mother for she sacrificed her own life in bearing him but his father had been a gentle and kind man.

 

Louis had been forced away from him upon leaving school at fourteen. A prospective employer from the town had snapped him up as an apprentice and paid his father a fine sum for his loss. Unfortunately for Louis, his new home was as devoid of love as his last one had been full of it. He had cried himself to sleep at night until he had been beaten and told to be quiet.

 

Louis had been quiet ever since but recently his rebel streak had grown stronger and wilder and it was like a new born foal standing on shaky legs for the first time and bearing down hill into a run.

 

 _Abandon. Bravery_. _Fearlessness_.

 

His gaze narrowed on the gate keeper, bringing him back to the present moment.

 

"Oh, look, the French froggie is back!" The elder of the two men sat there cajoled.

 

He rose slowly to wander to the padlock in the centre of the two gates. Louis flicked his fringe back and rolled his eyes with a sigh.

 

"Yes, I have returned. Ribbit," he added for good measure.

 

The padlock clinked open and the chain slid added way noisily. There was a creak as the iron grids opened, each grand arch of bars pillared by lion-crested gate posts.

 

"In you come then, Frenchie," the man grinned.

 

Louis noticed the black of his teeth and licked his own, thankful he could steal some of Kenneth's soap and chalk from the jar he kept in the bathroom. It kept his teeth clean and white.

 

//

 

Louis kept a keen eye on the gate-masters in the event they should think about tripping him again, but apparently his cargo was too precious to consider ruining it. The Prince was desperate for his slippers according to the gossip in town.

 

And although Louis had all but finished the pink silk footwear with plenty of time to spare, the fact that Kenneth had forgotten he'd forbidden Louis to leave the shop and therefore the shoes remained undelivered meant Louis had earned another lashing through no fault of his own.

 

Despite wearing his best suit- a second hand school boy's navy ensemble of breeches, jacket and waistcoat over a mildly stained white shirt with ruffled cuffs and his own less ruffled scarf tied and tucked down his front- he still looked wildly out of place.

 

He knew not to knock at the front door but rather approach the service door of the palace with his parcel.

 

"Bonjour? Hello? Is anyone there?"

 

He leaned into the open doorway of the kitchen for a better view and was immediately grasped by the front of his clothing; only to be ungracefully wrenched inside.

 

"Shh!" Liam hissed, covering Louis' mouth with his free hand.

 

Liam's mouth was dirty however. Covered over in butter and crumb. He chewed more quickly than Louis had seen any man eat, even himself in his half-starved state.

 

"Liam," he greeted bemusedly. "Unhand me, please."

 

Liam let him go.

 

"You mustn't tell anyone!" The familiar man begged. "Fresh scones were sent from the bakery and- oh, my they are utterly divine!"

 

Louis' stomach chose that moment to let out a loud peal of protest at being empty. His cheeks flooded with shame.

 

"Ignore it, it stops eventually," he shrugged with a tight smile.

 

Liam's eyes had grown rather large indeed. He licked his lips free of grease and leftover scone.

 

"Would you like one?"

 

Louis shook his head quickly.

 

"I have lunch waiting for me back at the shop..." He lied easily.

 

"It is already a quarter past two," Liam stated, turning to slice another scone open and slathering it with butter.

 

He wrapped it in a cloth napkin and shoved the butter back in the pantry.

 

"You must come with me now," Liam stated and Louis had no option but to stumble inside the palace to follow.

 

//

 

Louis savoured the scone bite by bite, biting his lips and sucking his tongue after to absorb any last remnants of the delicious treat.

 

"How much weight do you owe?" Liam asked as he watched him thoughtfully.

 

They had both gone back to Liam's quarters, the servant man lolling back on his bed and Louis perching on the very edge.

 

 _Oh to have a bed frame!_ And a cushion for his body. Louis would give his right hand.

 

Louis looked at him, tensing stiffly.

 

"I do not know what you mean."

 

"You are under weight," Liam stated as though this was not highly personal to Louis. As if he had a _choice_.

 

"I do not know by how much," Louis answered his first question.

 

"You do not see a Medic?"

 

Louis shook his head.

 

Liam went to get up.

 

"I can get more leftovers from the kitchen."

 

"Please do not," Louis begged. "It will make me bilious. It should tie a knot in my stomach to gorge."

 

"But-"

 

"Please," Louis looked at him meaningfully. "I am here to deliver the slippers and that is all. I should go now."

 

"Let me show you around," Liam asked. "You are my only companion, you know. It is lonely sometimes."

 

Louis sighed, his eyes flicking over Liam's sumptuous clothes.

 

"I should stand out like a sore thumb," Louis huffed. "I am dirty and wear beggar's clothes."

 

Liam shot up off the bed and swung open his wardrobe.

 

"You can borrow something of mine. Nobody will know."

 

Louis looked at him.

 

"I shall comb your hair," he added as if this bargain would sway Louis in his favour.

 

However it did.

 

"Will you not get into trouble?" Louis whispered as though they could be overheard. "What if the King or the Prince see us?"

 

"They are away on business until Friday," Liam explained as Louis quickly changed from his own navy boy's clothes into men's matching silk and taffeta singles. The blue was much lighter, more like the sky and Louis felt somewhat of a Molly wearing them but he hadn't a cause to complain considering his preference for men.

 

He gave Liam a broad smile as his new friend wetted a comb and parted his hair.

 

"I should have a wig," Louis teased. "A long one I could tie back!"

 

"The Prince has stated that wigs are no longer in fashion," Liam recounted knowledgeably. "It would be horribly faux pas to be seen wearing one."

 

Louis' hair was growing longer but it was nowhere near wig-length. Liam brushed up one half of his hair and called it "quaffing". Louis laughed that it was half a quaff since only one side rose and dubbed it a _quiff_. They laughed and it echoed in the servants quarters.

 

//

 

"Come on, quick sharp," Liam led Louis back out into the corridor and marched him toward the main house.

 

"What is it like then?" Liam asked. "Making shoes?"

 

Louis smiled, walking as straight as his bad posture allowed. He spent twelve hours a day bent over a shoe clamp, his spine felt irrevocably curved.

 

"I love it. I always have. Ever since I first touched leather..."

 

"And your employer? Mr. Griffin?"

 

Louis tensed at the mention of his boss' name. He didn't dare divulge the truth of the man's nature just in case Liam should share that information and a palace messenger come looking for Kenneth as a result. Louis might not survive that lashing should it be the case.

 

"He feeds me, clothes me and puts a roof over my head," Louis supplied softly, not technically lying.

 

Liam was looking at him though, like he thought he might be lying after all.

 

"Really he feeds you? Three meals a day?"

 

Louis swallowed, blinking his gaze away.

 

"Twice, mostly. Unless we have a good week."

 

Louis' heart was thudding loudly in his chest and he hoped to God that Liam could not hear it.

 

"Let me show you the library," Liam murmured to break the silence.

 

"I would love to see," Louis replied and followed the way.

 

//

 

It was there, in the grand old library, that they were caught.

 

"Liam Payne!" Prince Harry burst into the room by both doors, barking his aide's name.

 

"Yes-Sir," Liam jumped up from the casual seat he'd taken on the table edge while Louis was hunched over in a small upholstered chair.

 

Liam's eyes were wide with fear as Harry stalked to the window.

 

"I need to speak with you very urgently..."

 

"Yes, Your Majesty, of course," Liam gulped, stepping himself steadily closer to the other man whilst shooting glances back at Louis, silently communicating with him to sneak out while Harry's attention was distracted outside the room, on the other side of the glass and onto the lawn.

 

It was as Louis stood to tiptoe around the seat and slide seamlessly from the room that Harry turned, hands bracing his slim hips and holding back his full-skirted cream and gold jacket.

 

"And who might this little mouse be?" 

 

Louis froze at the booming voice, his shoulders rising by his ears and his hairs going on end.

 

 _Oh drat_.

 

"Your Majesty...This is...This is-- a, a friend of mine. A visitor!" Liam hurried to explain. "He arrived from France a short while ago!"

 

Louis turned to give Liam the kind of look that ought to silence the mouthiest child.

 

"I am on my way back to the port now," Louis offered quickly, restarting his intended exit from the room.

 

"Wait a moment," Harry called more softly, confusion evident in his voice. "Let us be properly acquainted before you cast off."

 

Louis squeezed his eyes tight shut and winced, blaming Liam for every second of what would follow as the worst punishment he had ever endured.

 

He forced himself to turn, his eyes automatically seeking the Prince's. Harry's gaze worked over him, assessing his quality Louis suspected.

 

"I am Harry Edward Styles," Harry introduced himself. "I have been away on business and was not expected back until later this week; however I am more than happy to make your acquaintance now that you are here...Louis of France?"

 

The way Harry said the words as a question had Louis biting back a smirk. He almost forgot to curtsey. He did so belatedly with an awkward clearing of his throat that Harry waved away.

 

"Louis Tomlinson. _Originally_ of France."

 

"And yet returning to our sister nation so quickly after coming ashore," Harry observed.

 

Liam shot his boss a look.

 

"He lives with his Aunt. His parents sent him to France when he was young and-"

 

"Do you come from a poor family?" Harry's voice cut through Liam's curiously.

 

Louis lifted his brows.

 

"A modest family, Your Highness," he answered, to a hissed correction from Liam. "Your _Majesty_. My apologies..."

 

"Do they not earn enough to feed you, Louis?"

 

Louis' heart started rabbiting in his throat, his gaze sheened over in panic.

 

"I--I have a delicate bone structure, I-"

 

"I can see that," Harry's gaze swept over him once more. It seemed to linger on Louis' face before he spoke again. "Perhaps you would like to reside at the palace for a few days and fortify yourself?"

 

Louis' gaze flashed to Liam.

 

 _See what you have gotten us both into?_ He burned the accusation to the man through his eyes.

 

"It was merely a quick visit, Your Majesty. He was not meant to stop at London at all if not for my begging..." Liam explained frantically.

 

Harry's fingers stroked at his silk- covered hips, his nostrils flaring. He was not a man who was used to not getting what he wanted. He tilted his head as he considered his options to persuade the other man to stay a little longer. Long enough to at least eat a full meal, something he appeared to have been missing for some time.

 

"Should you like to come to a Summer ball, then?" Harry asked, just as Louis dropped his gaze from Liam in thankful relief, his heart rate having just slowed down.

 

Liam let out a soft, 'Your Majesty!' in surprise.

 

Harry looked at him innocently.

 

"Am I not the Prince of England?"

 

"Yes, Sir."

 

"Then I may invite who I like. Your poor French mouse being one of them."

 

"I am not a mou-"

 

"Louis regrettably has to decline your offer," Liam moved toward Louis to make his exit final. "I will escort him out..."

 

They were almost at the doorway when Harry's deep, warm voice called out again.

 

"Louis Tomlinson of France?"

 

Harry's voice paused them one final time.

 

Louis couldn't help but turn, feeling exactly like the mouse Harry alluded him to being. Harry was most definitely a lion.

 

"Your Majesty?" He managed quietly, swallowing fast.

 

"I should like it if you would reconsider my offer to attend the ball. With Liam, of course. And a fair maiden should you wish..."

 

Louis blinked. He had nothing to say, his mind was truly blank.

 

Luckily for him, Liam had the sense to speak for him.

 

"You have overwhelmed him, Sir. He is not accustomed to being invited to Royal events. Let us get him safely back to port and we shall discuss the ball with his Aunt and Uncle..."

 

"Please ensure you do," Harry said to his aide and Liam carefully guided Louis out of the room.

 

//

 

"You could have given me fair warning!" Louis rounded on Liam the moment they scattered onto the pebbled streets outside of the Palace; horses clattering by them and people falling across their path.

 

Liam rolled his eyes.

 

"As if I could know he would ask you along! He is a Prince and you are a pauper! I thought he wanted to feed you, not-"

 

Liam cut himself off from what he was about to say. Louis slid him a look.

 

"Not what?"

 

Liam sighed.

 

"Nothing. It is of no matter. We need to vanish you into thin air and hope the Prince does not come looking!"

 

Louis snorted.

 

"It will not be difficult, I am kept locked in a dungeon."

 

Liam paused, his features changing from the rush of fear and excitement into something softer and sadder.

 

"Please, let me help you," he begged.

 

Louis shook his head, swallowing down the bile in his throat.

 

"I should use this chance to truly escape via the port," he sighed. "Make my way back to France."

 

"Is it home for you?" Liam asked.

 

Louis had never asked himself the same question because he had never been allowed. Home was where he was paid to be. It did not feel very warm and inviting, however. But France? He had nothing there, nobody who gave any concern of his welfare. And whatever he had thought about the indulged occupants of the Palace, already two of the inhabitants had shown him more care than he'd ever experienced in his working life.

 

He paused.

 

"Come and work with us," Liam begged. "Work at the Palace! If Harry knew it was you who created his slipper, he would ask for your permanent attendance, I am certain of it!"

 

Louis again shook his head.

 

"I am owed to Kenneth. I may dislike my fate but I am not a man to shirk my duty."

 

Liam bit his lip against saying anything more.

 

"Please come again soon?"

 

"Ask for shoes," Louis smiled a bit, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "A great many shoes!"

 

He turned and ran into the cloudy darkness sweeping over the buildings of the town, leaving Liam breathing plumes of breath into the cold night air.

 

"He has my second best suit," he murmured to himself before turning back toward the palace.

 

//

 

The ball was a bloody great bore.

 

Harry stood for as long as he could manage in his perfectly beautiful pink silk gaudy shoes but even with their divine comfort, the heels made his feet hurt and he resorted to sitting down. In the parlour at the front of the house, away from the festivities and celebrations and all that came with it.

 

There were uncountable fair maidens there. Louis would have his pick should he have accepted Harry's invite. Except he had _not_.

 

And Harry felt sullen because of it.

 

He had never directly invited a man to a social event such as the ball. He had not expected rejection. His status alone should secure him the company of whomever he should ask. Perhaps he was not as charming as his followers claimed him to be. Perhaps Louis could spot Harry's preferences from a long way off and preferred to avoid his advances.

 

Harry had not seen such a pretty and endearing boy before. He should be forgiven. It may be obvious that he was poor- _and poorly fed_ \- but his slight state did not dampen his beauty any. His gaunt cheeks only accentuated his big blue eyes, his sharp jaw contrasted so with his soft lips. He was a swirling myriad of man upon woman, almost. Delicate and gentle yet steely and tough.

 

Harry had been intoxicated and he had only been in his presence for mere moments.

 

He wanted to know Louis from France. Wanted to hear more of his barely- there accent, over-taken by brusque London inflections. He wanted-

 

Harry closed his eyes.

 

He wanted the boy naked, slim and perfectly small, curled in his arms. More than that. He wanted the boy to curl him close, too, to protect him from the harsh world and the pressure of his legacy. He wanted to kiss his mouth open and slide his tongue inside. He wanted to nudge between his thighs and press their bodies close together just to see what it felt like, just to _feel_.

 

"Your Majesty?"

 

His voice, so soft and pleading. It rang in his ears delightfully.

 

"Are you quite alright?"

 

Harry's lids flickered, his eyes popping open.

 

"Who is there?" He struggled to sit up quickly enough, the stranger venturing into the darkened room.

 

"It is I, Louis," Louis said, and it really, truly was him. Real blood and flesh. "Louis Tomlinson of France," he added in case Harry should have forgotten.

 

He had not. Harry glared.

 

"From where did you appear?"

 

Louis laughed. It died quietly in the darkness.

 

"I entered through the side-door, actually," he turned to point to the servants' quarters. "Liam helped me with my breeches."

 

Harry's gaze lowered to settle between Louis' thighs. He licked his lips at the bulge there, cupped enticingly by burgundy silk.

 

"Did he now?"

 

Louis might have blushed but it was too dark to tell.

 

"That is to say, he-"

 

"I do not wish to know the details of Liam's business in your breeches," Harry drawled. "Perhaps you might save me from an early slumber?"

 

Louis fiddled with his white lace neckerchief, like he wasn't quite used to wearing one.

 

"You cannot reside to your chambers at your own Summer Ball, Your Majesty."

 

"Can I not?" Harry enquired rather dryly. "Then tell me, have you eaten?"

 

Louis' eyes darted to his. Harry knew the answer.

 

"I have not."

 

"It is not too late, the cook has over-done himself with provisions. Let us reap the benefits..."

 

Louis bit his lip, hesitant to turn.

 

"As you wish," he agreed quietly, following Harry into the grand hall.

 

//

 

"What is your type?"

 

They had found Liam and included him in their company mainly to keep the unwanted attention of other courtiers at bay. Harry found himself unable to resist standing close by the smaller man; tempted to brush their arms together as he sipped his wine. It was a close thing as to whether Louis would object and retreat like the last time they met.

 

The question came from Harry as they watched the ladies spin around the dance-floor, led by the men.

 

"I like brunettes," Liam piped up. "Tall and slight."

 

Harry pursed his lips, eyes scanning the crowd.

 

"I have found the love of your life," he announced.

 

Louis chuckled.

 

"You have not! Do not fill him with empty ideas."

 

"I would never dare! She is right there!" Harry pointed to an exquisitely beautiful woman with dark hair and eyes; something of a gypsy-look about her. Romany eyes and curves on her body.

 

"Good heavens, he is right," Liam shot to his feet. "I shall ask her for a dance..."

 

Before Louis could tell him to cool his ardour, Liam had gone, bee-lining towards the woman Harry had pointed out.

 

"And you, French Louis? Who shall I pick out for you?"

 

Louis pursed his lips, eyes dropping to his fingertips. He pretended to notice Harry's shoes for the first time.

 

"Those are lovely slippers. Where do you buy such a thing?"

 

Harry tilted his head, moving in his seat from slouching to sitting upright. He turned his ankle coquettishly.

 

"I ask you for your perfect lady and you turn your attention to a man's ankle. Interesting..."

 

Louis' cheeks flooded with colour. He scrambled to escape, pushing up out of his chair with the intention to flee, but _where_ to flee to was not becoming clear. He stepped forward to march away- anywhere other than there, his destination unclear. Something tightened vice-like around his wrist.

 

He hesitated, a shiver running down his spine as a breath was borne upon his ear.

 

"Sit down."

 

It was Harry's voice, unmistakeably soft and commanding. Louis knew better than to argue for the man had all but hauled him to this Ball in the first place. The reason for the Prince's insistence at sharing his company remained unclear but Louis was not opposed to it. The Prince was an intriguing and surprising man.

 

Louis sat back down, letting his breathing even before he spoke again.

 

"Your Majesty, I cannot answer your question," Louis admitted quietly, his gaze somewhere at the slightly scuffed toes of his own heeled shoes.

 

Harry's lips pursed and his brows arched regally. His elbow rested on the arm of the chair, gentle fingers roaming over his rosy lips.

 

"You do not know which fair maiden to choose," Harry surmised for him.

 

Louis shook his head, frowning. He cleared the grit from his throat.

 

"I fear no woman will be the right match," he ventured bravely.

 

Harry swallowed. Louis watched the action of his Adam's apple with his eyes. Harry didn't look at him but his fingers still brushed his soft-looking mouth.

 

"Why so, little mouse?"

 

Louis should have taken exception to the nickname Harry had allotted him but he could not find it in himself to object.

 

"Your Majesty, you have probably guessed it already but I have no interest in women. None at all."

 

Louis had just confessed his deepest, darkest, worst secret to somebody who could have his head cut off should he desire. In fact, the news he had just given could have dire, violent consequences other than merely losing his head.

 

"I am deeply sorry," he added. "I shall leave now."

 

He stood up to go- for the second time- but once more Harry stopped him.

 

"Please sit back down," the other man asked lowly, sipping at his wine with not a care in the world.

 

Louis gulped. He did not sit. He stared, confused and frozen in fear.

 

"I shall not have you flogged or beaten," Harry extended. "Sit."

 

Louis, like a dog, sat.

 

"Your Majesty-"

 

"If I have one request of you, it is that you call me by my given name," Harry begged gruffly, twirling his glass in deceptively careful fingers. "It has taken twenty-three years for me to hear my actual name fall from someone's lips..."

 

"As you wish," Louis acquiesced easily. He tried to address the man again. "Harry-"

 

Harry swallowed, his eyes changing as he turned to look at Louis. His pupils were a bit bigger. The fingers of his left hand clenched on his knee a little, his curled hair falling down in pretty spirals as it dropped over his shoulder as he moved.

 

"Say it again."

 

He had abandoned his wine in favour of a new vice.

 

Louis shrugged, frowning like he didn't understand the meaning of the simplicity of his name.

 

"Harry."

 

"Say it in French."

 

Louis laughed, more of a giggle.

 

"'Arry..."

 

Harry smiled back, a quiet huff of delight leaving his lips. _He did it_. He had found someone to call his name, as it was with no pomp or ceremony.

 

"Say it in a sentence, so it makes sense," Harry demanded next, breathy with excitement.

 

Louis had never seen the Prince's face break from it's intense steely concentration but in that moment it was if Harry was a young boy receiving his first Christmas gift and his smile was as wide as his face; his green eyes sparkling with what seemed to be pleasure. Louis could not resist indulging the Prince, for he had not had anyone to indulge before.

 

" _Salut_ Harry, comment vas-tu aujourd'hui," Louis peeled off the sentence in his native tongue with a satisfied smirk.

 

It was in that moment that the King swept into Louis' vision. He froze, gulping down a swallow.

 

"Your Majesty," he remembered to get to his feet to bow.

 

The King ignored him completely, turning his attention to his son.

 

"Harold, your Kingdom awaits you," his father pointed his chin towards the crowds adorning the dancefloor. "There are a great many debutantes for you to dance with and there can be no excuses..."'

 

Harry licked his lips and stood slowly, staring at his father.

 

"Father, I would like you to meet Louis Tomlinson of France. He is visiting Liam in the staff quarters."

 

The King flicked his eyes over the other boy, the one with scruffy hair and too-thin limbs.

 

"Have you eaten enough of the buffet, my child?" Robin asked.

 

Louis attempted a placid smile.

 

"Was about to go for a second helping," he gladly used the prompt to flee the King's attention.

 

Harry's eyes flitted to his step-mother, Getrude, a widowed royal from Germany who his father had met a few years after his own mother's death. He had been ten when Anne had been seized with fever; no doctor able to rid the disease from her body. Harry had cried day and night for her but the daily churn of fencing lessons, horse-back riding, calligraphy and painted art had eventually persuaded him that life must go on without her.

 

His gaze wandered to Louis' back which was now facing him as he filled his plate from the buffet, something which did briefly make Harry smile.

 

"Step-mother," he greeted with a stiff hug and bow. "You look stunning, as usual."

 

She didn't, of course. She always chose a shade of colour that did not quite match her skin-tone and her hair was very severe in it's style, a German thing apparently. Harry had never warmed to her but he had no reason to hate her. She had always been benign to him.

 

"I am surprised you are not prouetting for all of England!" Gertrude commented, making the King's back straighten. "You know how we love seeing your ballet..."

 

Harry bit his lip to prevent the smirk falling onto his lips. He had learned ballet and it had not been very much of a secret and after much cajoling from the palace ballet- tutor (originally employed to teach his nine year old cousin who had no interest in dance) he had eventually showed his parents what he had learned.

 

He would never repeat the experience but it was as much of a coming-out as Harry would get in his circumstances and although his father had accepted his son's quaint and sometimes unmanageable ways, he did not bend or lean from his belief that Harry should marry and extend the line of the throne by bearing children as quickly as possible.

 

"I fear this would not be the appropriate place to showcase my hidden talents," Harry teased warmly, taking Gertrude's hand to kiss the back of it as he bowed out. "However I bid you good night as I intend to retire to bed early. I have a horrible headache that will not cease."

 

Harry walked with purpose to the doors; summoning Liam to walk beside him.

 

"Bring Louis to my chambers," he told his aide quietly. "Not right away, give a few more minutes, of course."

 

Liam looked at him for too long.

 

"What is it, Liam?"

 

"What if Louis does not wish to come?" Liam asked.

 

Harry swallowed. He had not considered the issue. Of course, Louis was the only being in the Kingdom to ever have rejected an offer he had made and he could just as easily do so again. He sighed.

 

"Then you may come alone," he offered, turning and stalking towards the stairs.

 

//

 

"He wants me to go where?"

 

"To his room."

 

Louis made a face at Liam, sipping the heavy glass of brandy he'd procured in the drawing room and puffing on the pipe Liam passed to him.

 

"Is that not--forbidden?" Louis whispered.

 

Liam shrugged.

 

"If I had to guess I would suggest he likes to speak with you," Liam offered.

 

"In his _chambers_ ," Louis whispered once more.

 

"Where else would you propose a conversation take place?"

 

"In the gardens?" Louis suggested. "Under the moonlight..."

 

"Where a dozen or more females would be wandering to try and catch the Prince's attention..."

 

Louis sharpened his gaze on his new friend.

 

"He knows I like boys."

 

Liam grinned.

 

"You are not exactly an expert at hiding it, Lou..."

 

Louis smiled graciously.

 

"Alright. Since I am hopeless at hiding the truth, tell me something..."

 

Liam lifted his brows.

 

"Will I be safe with the Prince without a chaperone?"

 

Liam pursed his lips.

 

"He has a history of pinching boy's bums," Liam joked. "I doubt he will sully your honour."

 

Louis arched a brow. If he was to become the latest toy to the Prince, he wished it would not be for this one night but for many nights to come. He had earned the courage to come here only at the very last minute for it meant he had to lie again about who he was and he hated lying. He was proud of who he really was, he didn't want Harry to grow any kind of fondness from the wrong information about his character.

 

He didn't have a chance to correct him though, for as soon as he stepped into the bed-chamber of the Prince with determination flooding his veins to admit the truth to him; His Majesty presented himself on the dark-wooded four poster bed with a  flourish, jumping onto the surface of the plush-looking mattress and bouncing only once before settling into place, head propped into his hand.

 

"Louis!" He gasped, a little breathless and pink-cheeked, although trying and failing to pull of a cool, collected demeanour.

 

The Prince had changed out of his rather formal pink silk ensemble; now choosing to wear his white frilled shirt undone at the chest and billowing over a pair of red long-johns; some flat-bottomed soft house-shoes on his feet that Louis recognised sharply.

 

 _Another pair of his shoes_! They seemed to be all the Prince cared to put on his feet.

 

As if his hard stare at the footwear indicated to the Prince that Louis didn't like the items, he slipped them off his feet and wiggled his bare toes.

 

"Should you like to make yourself comfortable?" Harry asked, inching backwards on the bed.

 

Louis frowned, tongue lathing over his bottom lip. Did Harry-? Was he--?

 

"I think you have been mistaken," Louis ventured quietly as Harry continued to worm himself back on the bed to make room.

 

Harry paused immediately. He snapped his gaze to Louis.

 

"I have?"

 

Louis stared at him, at the lovely sight of the tall, muscular man looking so incredibly soft and beautiful on the bed, his previous pomp and bluster meting away to reveal a marshmallow inside that Louis wanted to gorge on.

 

His curled hair was unravelling between his fingers; his face bright with hope and flushed with the apparent exertion of presenting himself on the bed. Louis' heart ached for a something that he could not have- a true romance with the man laying before him. He was not a Prince to Louis in that moment but a beautiful rose. But Louis was merely a temporary entertainment for the Prince and that was not something that rested well with him.

 

"I am not--what you think I am," he presented, lamenting over his delivery.

 

Harry swallowed.

 

"You are not?"

 

Louis sighed.

 

"No," he pushed a hand into his fringe, pulling it loose of the weak hold it had in its quiff. "I am not a harlot."

 

Harry's mouth opened. Quite wide, actually. He closed it and opened it again, repeating the action whilst Louis stood frozen to the ground.

 

"I did not think you were!" He denied, mortified by the accusation. He rolled over to get himself up quickly but seemed to forget he had crawled practically the entire way across the bed. He fell onto the hard wood floor with a heavy thud.

 

Louis heard a hissed _ouch_ come from the other side of the huge bed frame. He waited patiently - nervously- for Harry to appear.

 

A head shot up from the other side of the mattress followed by a lean body, devastatingly handsome in a rumpled white shirt and red long legs; as though he had already had his honour stolen.

 

Louis' eyes fixed upon his lips.

 

"Sir, I had not assumed you to be a harlot!" Harry huffed once he was up and halfway to being collected.

 

Louis couldn't help the way his gaze landed on the bare vee of his chest, his pectorals were pronounced and rounded almost like breasts; his skin smooth of any hair. His gaze dipped lower, finding home in the apex of Harry's thighs, a pronounced bulge cupped perfectly in soft, red fabric. Louis averted his eyes, feeling like a hypocrite.

 

"Then what did you want of me in your chambers?" Louis asked, confused. "On your bed, half-rid of your clothes?"

 

Harry swallowed and Louis noticed the tremor in his hands.

 

"You told me you were a sodomite," Harry murmured softly, as if saying the words aloud would frighten Louis. Maybe they did, spoken quietly in a rich, deep voice. "I wanted to ask you questions, to-"

 

"Why are you undressed?" Louis demanded again, eyes raking over him accusingly. "What was I to think?"

 

It was not unusual for rich men to demand the company of pretty boys. Louis had been lucky to escape such a fate himself a few times only thanks to Kenneth's strict ownership and capture of him.

 

"I am a man of honour," Harry assured, manoeuvring himself to his closet to pull on breeches over the red long johns. He fastened a smoking jacket over his shirt, his hair wild and eyes wilder. "I would never seek to steal your virtue, only to accept it should it be given willingly and even then it should be treated like a precious gift in the gentlest of hands..."

 

Louis felt something stir in his belly.

 

Did the Prince...did he _want_ him?

 

"I have thrown propriety out of the window," Harry surmised with a hand in his own hair. "I merely wanted to talk, to-"

 

Louis looked up at his pause.

 

"Possibly to kiss you, if I was to be permitted. I accept now that my actions were improper and of insult to your virtue. Please, forgive me," Harry begged from afar, eyes wide with worry. "This is not a scene which shall repeat itself ever again."

 

Louis' chest spasmed in pain at that, at having shut Harry down so hard that he did not wish to try again. Louis ached to peel away the soft, breathy billow of his shirt and kiss the warmth of his skin. He urged to walk forward and kiss his mouth, just as he had spoken of. But they barely knew anything of each other, merely that they liked how the other looked and they shared a love of France (If Harry's avid conversation in full French with his young cousin was anything to go by). Suddenly Harry's acceptance of his earlier revelation made perfect sense.

 

Although he might have taken the Prince's fancy for an evening of debauchery; it seemed Harry was not altogether at ease with his own desires. Louis' confession seemed to inspire some kinship with the Prince. The fact Harry had shared his wish to kiss Louis and to discover more about his preference for men was nearly unheard of. And yet Louis felt no wish to share the news with anyone or to question the Prince's spoken words.

 

Louis stared at the dishevelled Prince and begged his resolve not to waiver. He did not win his internal battle.

 

"Meet me," Louis whispered, swallowing hard to bite back the words, squeezing his eyes closed to avoid the rejection.

 

He could have his heart broken quite hard should the Prince wish to try. He could have his bones broken harder.

 

"Where and when?" Was murmured back.

 

Louis gasped, taking more painful, laboured breaths without opening his eyes.

 

"Midnight the day after today. Let us talk," he added.

 

Harry nodded. Louis looked up to see it.

 

Louis' heart was in his throat when he said,

 

"By the river, Blackfriars Bridge," Louis stipulated.

 

"I'll be there...can you get away?"

 

Louis nodded.

 

"I'll find a way."

 

Harry bit his lip.

 

"Louis?"

 

"Yes?"

 

Harry smiled, just a little tiny one that popped the dimples into his cheeks. Hope was not altogether lost. Louis clutched the memory of that moment dearly in his mind.

 

"Say goodnight in French?" Harry begged.

 

"Bonne nuit, ma belle rose rouge," Louis parted, turning and slipping out of the room.

.

_My beautiful red rose._

 

//

 

The Prince was an entirely different man when lost of his costume.

 

For their clandestine meeting he wore corduroy breeches and flat plain slippers, a grey jacket and waist coat with big buttons and no embroidery. His hat was secured on his head but Louis refused to wear his, he shunned the social obligation and dressed in his alarmingly drab normal attire.

 

Seeing Harry's silhouette against the dark London sky only heightened his nerves. Should he be caught in the Prince's presence, he would be the one to be punished, not Harry. He was the commoner after all.

 

Louis hung his arms over the railings on which Harry had propped his.

 

"One might suggest it was an evening to take advantage of strolling," he greeted formally.

 

Harry grinned, hiding it by ducking his face.

 

"This is my chance to woo you," Harry stated. "Let us find a chaperone..." He looked around authentically.

 

Louis hushed him, grasping his arm and tugging him away from the railing.

 

"I know somewhere we can go."

 

"So you _are_ that kind of boy," Harry joked, following after him.

 

//

 

Louis took him up to the tower. Not the big tower that everyone knew about but a small watchtower near the bridge, empty and open to the public. They dangled their legs over the side, pressed close for fear of falling.

 

"Why did you insist on wearing this far-from-adequate attire?" Harry complained of Louis' tattered jacket. "You look to be freezing."

 

"I _am_ freezing," Louis confirmed. "And it is all I had-It is all-"

 

Harry's face became wounded.

 

"Do your Aunt and Uncle not care for you properly?"

 

Louis swallowed.

 

"I-I do not live with my Uncle and Aunt, actually," he admitted quietly. "You should probably know that I live with my employer, a man who shows no shred of care for my being alive."

 

Harry swallowed and looked out on the river.

 

"And you did not tell me, because?"

 

"Because there is nothing you or anyone else can do. Liam has already tried and I will not have it. I am obligated to be his assistant and that's the way it shall be."

 

"What of food?" Harry asked then, urgently. "There is barely anything of you! At least allow me to feed you..."

 

Louis hung his head. He _was_ starving. He sighed.

 

"Alright, I will allow for small provisions to be made."

 

Harry nodded and smiled triumphantly like he had won a war.

 

"Louis, I am the same as you," Harry said then, quiet and almost shy. "As I have already confessed to you, my desire is for men, not women."

 

Louis nodded, grimacing.

 

"Do you feel as trapped as I?"

 

Harry nodded, biting his lip.

 

"My mother passed when I was ten years old, she knew of my preference, it was not something I could hide from her. Father knows but he is a traditional man. He intends for me to produce an heir."

 

"My mum died when she had me," Louis shared then with a sad flicker of a smile. "My dad taught me the shoe business but at fourteen, I got taken away from him. I know how it feels, Harry. I know how it feels to-"

 

Harry turned, eyes avid on Louis' face, tracing the shadows and the highlights cast by the stars and moon hanging above them.

 

"Say it again."

 

 _His name_. Louis sucked in a breath. Harry so loved hearing his name.

 

"Harry... _'Arry_...Ha-"

 

Harry pressed his thumb over Louis' lips, his eyes raking Louis' face.

 

"I should still like to kiss you, if you permit it," Harry whispered.

 

Louis lifted his chin, lashes falling to his cheeks. It was permission in silence.

 

Harry grazed fumbling, dry lips against his. It wasn't a kiss; it was barely a touch. It was brave; a move made without hesitance or uncertainty; something that took Louis by surprise from a man who had never made an advance like that.

 

Louis might not have kissed a man before but he was not one to question a fortuitous moment such as this. This beautiful man wanted to kiss him and who was he to question the whys and wherefores?

 

He cupped Harry's face in strong hands and positioned them better, gently sucking on Harry's cupid's bow.

 

"My beautiful rose..."

 

Harry twisted a bit to make things more permanent; his hand venturing shakily onto Louis' back and pressing there when Louis moved his lips to suckle his lower lip gently.

 

 _Rose_.

 

His lips were exactly the softness of rose-petals, the same bright pink. They tasted as sweet as rose water. Louis slanted their mouths together and sighed as Harry got the hang of it and kissed him back, nervous and shy but real. _So beautifully real_. He could feel how much Harry wanted him in the way he secured his arms around Louis to pull him close. But why? What could Louis possibly have to offer a man like Harry?

 

"We must not," Louis pulled away, eyes wide.

 

Harry blinked at him, confused.

 

"Your virtue?" He asked.

 

Louis smirked.

 

"More like your honour," Louis reminded. "Prince."

 

Harry made a face like he had tasted a particularly bad piece of meat amongst his plate of roast.

 

"I care nothing of my honour," Harry stated.

 

Louis twisted his lips.

 

"Fate did not intend for this to happen," he said.

 

Harry swung his legs, banging his feet childishly on the side of the tower.

 

"But I want to know you. To talk with you and to hear your voice..."

 

Louis looked at him and ached for the same.

 

"You can come and work at the palace," Harry said. "At least you would be close. I promise not to demand a thing of you. Just to see you...to speak with you on occasion. That would be enough."

 

Louis sighed. Escaping Kenneth would not be very easy.

 

"I would have to ask my employer to sell me as a slave. At the market. You would have to buy me-"

 

"I would pay all the guineas in England to have you."

 

"Shh," Louis giggled, pressing a finger over Harry's lips as he gave him an intense look, eyes fixated to Louis'. "You sound like a lunatic."

 

Harry's hand crept upwards, his thumb sliding into the delicate concave of Louis' cheek.

 

"I just want to feed you. Take care of you. Will you let me?"

 

Louis shook his head.

 

"No, it is _I_ who wishes to take care of _you_. That is the deal. I work to repay my debt."

 

Harry clenched his teeth together but nodded his agreement.

 

"Alright. As you wish."

 

"On Saturday then? I shall request to be taken to market?"

 

Harry nodded.

 

"I shall send someone to buy you, it is too risky to attend myself."

 

Louis nodded, too.

 

"Saturday."

 

//

 

Louis was not at the market.

 

Harry sent Liam on horseback to arrive before bidding could begin and he waited until the very last stall had packed up but there was no sign of his new friend.

 

He'd even visited the shoe shop under the premise of ordering yet more slippers for the young cousins as early Christmas presents but Louis had not been in the shop and when Liam had enquired quite casually to the man in attendance, he had been told that Louis had gone and was not coming back.

 

Liam had ridden back to the palace and burst into the parlour to find Harry; only to inadvertently disturb tea between the Queen and Robin's aide, William.

 

Liam immediately bowed in apology.

 

"Your Majesty, please forgive my fervour," he backed out, a brief frown tightening his features in curiosity as to the meaning of the meeting but he had rather more pressing matters to attend to.

 

"He has gone!" He gasped out to Harry once he had found him and secured him in a safe place to speak.

 

"What?" Harry snapped, eyes dark.

 

"I went to the market as you wished and he was not for sale..."

 

"He was not there?" Harry's gaze searched his, eyes filling with worry.

 

"He was not!" Liam said, then tugged at his hair. "Harry-Sir- I should have told you-"

 

"What is it, Liam?" Harry stalked across the room to grasp his arms in reassurance.

 

"Louis...I know where he works. This is all my fault!"

 

"Where? Where does he work?"

 

Liam gave him a pleading look.

 

"At the shoe shop! He brought the slippers you like. It was my fault that he stayed at all because I dressed him in my suit and we pretended. We pretended but you liked him and-"

 

Harry blinked. He may as well be honest with the only man who knew the truth about him.

 

"I kissed him."

 

Liam's face brightened momentarily.

 

"I am overjoyed for you, Sir."

 

"Liam, did you go to the shop?" Harry asked, getting him back on track.

 

"I did and he was not there. His employer said he was gone and he was not due back. Sir, he does not feed him! Louis was starved! He did not love him either. We have to help him..."

 

Harry nodded succinctly, his lip going between his teeth.

 

"We have to smuggle him inside the palace as a courtier," he posed. "He can work with you and be protected within the palace walls. Should he ever go outside and the man try to touch him, I shall have his hands cut off. I shall go there myself and demand to have him handed over to me."

 

Liam gave him a nervous glance.

 

"Erm, Sir..."

 

Harry moved to dress himself, tucking his shirt into his breeches and throwing on a waistcoat, buttoning the tiny buttons slowly one by one.

 

"God-forsaken!" Harry roared impatiently, throwing the waistcoat off and deciding to take just a jacket, to hell with propriety at times like this.

 

"Your Majesty, what if word gets out of your rescue mission? What might you say?"

 

"That he was being starved!" Harry argued. "We have just spoken of it and-"

 

"He's being kept in the basement," Liam blurted then, covering his face with his hands. "If you do not set eyes upon him at first. He is kept in a dungeon underneath the shop, chained up and-"

 

"For the love of all that is Holy!" Harry stormed out of his room and down the grand stair-case, heading to the drawing room to select a musket.

 

"Son, what is occurring?" Robin asked as he dashed in after him, having been taking a tour of the Palace.

 

Liam bit his lip guiltily in the wake of Harry's anger.

 

"An acquaintance of Liam's is being kept in a dungeon and starved to death!" He announced. "I am off to free him..."

 

Robin gave Liam a brow-arched look.

 

"Your Majesty, you met him at the ball...Louis of France? He has been taken against his will as a slave..."

 

Robin considered the matter, a blockade between his son and the front door of the house.

 

"This should make us look very bad if you intend on setting off that gun," he warned.

 

"It should make us look worse if we let an innocent man _die_...Besides, I do not intend to kill the perpetrator, just to maim him or remove his leg..."

 

Harry charged past his father who moved aside, giving the signal for Liam to follow him.

 

"If he should decease the poor fellow, at least offer to pay for the funeral?" He asked amusedly.

 

Liam nodded and ran after the riled-up Prince.

 

//

 

Obtaining Louis from Kenneth's clutches was in fact, a simple operation.

 

Harry had only to casually remind the man that he could have him hung, drawn and quartered with his head put on the city post for all to see; for Kenneth to hand over Louis without further argument.

 

Louis had not been willing to go at first.

 

It was a surprise to Harry who assumed the other man would be forever grateful for his apprehension but apparently, Louis preferred to be a man in charge of his own destiny and not _rescued by the Princess of England_ , as he had taken to dubbing Harry on the journey back to the palace.

 

Louis rode on Liam's horse while Harry instructed his own horse, Delilah, to prance as she would in a celebratory march. He had, after all, won his man and he deserved to boast about any victory he earned no matter how ungratefully his rescue may be received.

 

Louis was more agreeable once he had been bathed and fed. Natasha, one of the Queen's maids, trimmed his hair and found him some clothes which might fit; borrowed from some of the other servants in the palace.

 

It was mid-morning by the time he'd settled after a mammoth breakfast, curling up tiredly on a single bunk bed in the room beside Liam's.

 

Harry closed the door and pouted.

 

"Why does he hate me so?" Harry asked his friend.

 

Liam smiled at him.

 

"He does not hate you at all."

 

"He has not spoken a word to me yet."

 

"He has!" Liam argued. "He-well, he..."

 

"He told me that I should not have come for him," Harry recounted. "That I was a pretty flower who should be protected. My petals are my virtue- they must not be tainted."

 

"I do not understand why you view this as a bad thing, Sir. After all, he is worried only about your well-being."

 

"Should he prefer that I had left him there?" Harry beseeched.

 

Liam tilted his head.

 

"It must not be easy, accepting help," he suggested. "Or it being forced upon you. No matter how hard your life is, it is always preferable to have the choice."

 

Harry nodded, deep in thought.

 

"You are right."

 

 _I must give him a choice_ , Harry decided as he walked away.

 

//

 

The next two weeks were spent getting to know the Palace. Louis had suggested he use his sewing talent to make a great many things for the household including cushions and bed-covers.

 

He quickly became very popular with the younger members of the house, sharing funny stories and playing with them in his spare time.

 

Harry had given him a wide berth, often out of the Palace for official business and never venturing into the staff quarters to visit. When Louis had complained to Liam about it, Liam had merely reminded him that it was Louis' own fault the Prince was avoiding him. Since he made such a fuss about being rescued.

 

Louis had come to the conclusion that he needed to apologise and set his friendship with the Prince back on the right track.

 

It was one afternoon then, when he had completed a beautiful embroidered pink, rose-themed quilt for Harry's bed that he crept up the grand stairs to find Harry in his chambers. He knew he was there for Liam had advised him the Prince was acting like 'a bear with a sore head' since he had returned from York.

 

Apparently some of the Yorkshire men were up in arms about industrial working laws which forced their children to work for twelve hours a day for barely any income; torn from their families and at risk of being injured among the new machinery on offer.

 

It had been a difficult trip for Harry, he had seen the tight features of the Prince even though he had not spoken to him and he hoped his quilt would offer some apology for his actions the night he was rescued.

 

Passing the grand bedroom (The King and Queen's chambers), Louis was surprised to hear voices. Normally at this time of the day the King would be out shooting pheasant with the game-keeper and the Queen would be idling with her ladies in waiting in the parlour with tea.

 

Louis hesitated, drifting closer to the wall.

 

"...All I am saying is that it would not take much. One of these jaunts he finds himself gallivanting off on, surely there must be someone who is willing to take a shot for a couple of guineas..."

 

Louis frowned, certain he had misheard the Queen, certain that he had mistaken the context of her words.

 

"Madam, if it is not too bold of me to say, it would cost more than a couple of guineas to persuade a man to make such a shot. For he is certain to be hanged and his family lost of their father."

 

Louis froze, swallowing hard. That was William's voice, low and careful. But who did they speak of? Robin, The King?

 

"My Queen, what more can we do?"

 

"There is a great deal more we can do!"

 

At the sound of stomping footsteps, Louis quickened down the hall to the next door and turned the handle to fall inside without invitation or an announcement of his presence. He squeezed his eyes closed and merely hoped he hadn't caught the Prince with his breeches around his ankles.

 

"Louis."

 

It sounded very much like Harry had said _souris_ , French translation for his favourite nick-name for Louis. _Mouse_. He opened his eyes.

 

Harry was sat in one of the large, wicker seats situated beside a small table by the window, one leg crossed horizontally across the other. His shirt was tucked into his breeches, long socks pulled up but he had no shoes. He had no neckerchief.

 

"Harry, err-"

 

"What is that?" Harry put down the book he was reading and leaned forward.

 

Louis swallowed, nervously pushing the quilt forth.

 

"I made it. For your bed...in your favourite colour," Louis explained, walking closer for Harry to inspect it since he hadn't moved to collect the gift.

 

Louis flapped it out and held it up for him to see.

 

"I embroidered roses on it, too, since you are-"

 

Harry cut him off.

 

" _Le pétale soyeux,_ " he derided. "So I heard..."

 

Liam had recounted that little story to Harry then had he? When Louis had referred to Harry as _'a_   _soft petal'_ , Liam had forced him to repeat the mushy saying in French. He hadn't quite expected the servant to repeat it to His Majesty. Louis gulped.

 

"I should have thanked you properly. For saving me," he blurted then, bravely. "For coming to fetch me when you could have quite easily left me there-"

 

"Left you there?" Harry stood, a frown fixing upon his features, his eyes immediately intense. "I could not have left you there if I had tried. My will would not let me."

 

Louis blinked.

 

"You could have left me once I was rude to you," he added more quietly.

 

"Louis, you have a choice," Harry said then, eyes raking over the quilt but still not taking it. "You have a choice to stay or go, I am not forcing the decision upon you."

 

Louis bit his lip. He turned and made a show of flapping out the quilt to expose it on the bed covers. They were a deep mauve, embroidered and regal just as Louis expected.

 

"It looks perfect," he decided.

 

Harry slowly walked up behind him, swaying close, watching over his shoulder.

 

"It is very beautiful. Much like you, in fact."

 

Louis took a breath and leaned back; his first instinct being to turn but Harry's hands gently gripped his waist. His lips brushed his ear.

 

"What do you wish for Louis? To leave the palace and find your own world?"

 

Louis shook his head, settling against Harry's warm body. He could feel the gentle vibration, a tremor in Harry's touch either from fear or from the intensity of his feelings. Louis found his voice to be all but a whisper.

 

"I wish to stay here and serve you," he decided.

 

"And what of my nature? Does that dissuade you?"

 

Louis bit his lip; his heart missing a beat. He again shook his head, not trusting his lips to speak the right words to answer Harry's question. Harry's hands moved slowly, to unbutton his waistcoat, one tiny, fiddly pearl at a time. His fingertips crawled over the white cotton fabric of his shirt to untuck it from his breeches, the sight of which had Louis feeling faint.

 

"Do you intend to steal my virtue?" Louis asked, shaky hands resting on Harry's forearms as his fingers splayed against his hips.

 

"No," Harry's lips brushed his ear. "Merely to check you over and ensure of your wellness."

 

Louis chuckled, earning curious fingers dipping onto his belly under his shirt. His skin was warm but he shivered against the touch.

 

"I feel nothing of concern here," Harry told him.

 

Louis lifted his arms, bravely linking his fingers behind Harry's neck; thereby stretching his body out for Harry's hands to search.

 

"I am a very good patient," Louis assured softly.

 

Harry ruffled his hands under the shirt to burrow them deeper, thumbs pressing up into small nipples, earning a throaty sound of approval before slotting his fingers lower, into two rib cages that ought to be fuller; less bony and weak.

 

The whimpered sound from Louis' lips was not pleasured and Harry frowned, unlinking his arms reluctantly to walk around him..

 

"Harry," Louis grasped his wrist, begging him not to.

 

Harry caterpillared the fabric of the shirt into his hands, carefully lifting it over Louis' head and letting it land with a soft _whoosh_ to the floor. Louis sucked in air, rib-bones pointing sharply through too-little skin but then there was the colour: ugly, dark colour in so many shades that Harry felt sick just looking at it.

 

"He did this to you?" He asked.

 

Louis' hands were shaking so hard as he reached for Harry's face that Harry had to kiss every finger before letting them settle amongst his hair, on his shoulders as he lowered himself to his knees.

 

"I should have blown his bloody brains out," Harry murmured, leaning forward to press the gentlest brush of his lips against the tender skin.

 

Louis cupped the back of his head and let out a breath, so afraid of what Harry might think of him, of what he might say. He was practically a skeleton and coloured like a storm cloud, he couldn't fathom what Harry found nice enough to kiss.

 

"Hmm," Harry's lips found his belly, smoothing over his belly button while his hand dialed there; fan-like with his fingers outstretched. Louis felt a quiver in his stomach; felt his breath quicken as a result.

 

Harry's hands curved into the arch of his back to clutch him closer to his mouth as he kissed the parts that weren't hurt, that wouldn't be sore on contact. He lathed his tongue over Louis' nipple and cupped his behind in gentle hands, suddenly pulling away to stagger to his feet.

 

Louis caught him; overbalancing momentarily backwards until he found his footing; latching himself to the Prince's shoulders so they could kiss, finally, mouth to mouth and tongue to tongue. It was achingly blissful; the best home-coming Louis could dream of to be back in Harry's arms.

 

He could never explain it to anyone if they asked- why Harry? Because he couldn't explain it himself other than the feeling of dark-hot ignition in his belly, lighting a fire under his skin. He grasped at the back of Harry's shirt to inch it from his breeches, his hand pushing up into the gap to palm his back.

 

Harry made a weak noise and keened into him; almost knocking them off-kilter but they saved themselves quickly; Louis' other hand driving down the back of those cropped trousers to clutch Harry's bare ass.

 

"Oh, Princess," he murmured against Harry's ear as his mouth fell to suck at Louis' collar-bones. "Pretty little rosebud, hm?"

 

Harry smiled against his skin and came back to kiss him hotter, more thorughly than before. It was an addicitive thing, kissing him; like eating rare-found gum drops or finding a penny-farthing on the ground. He just wanted more of that euphoric feeling, that rush of exictement that skittered up his bones.

 

Louis' hand gravitated from the back of Harry's pants, sliding out and around to the front; taking brave initiative in cupping Harry's manhood through his breeches. Harry's breath caught, a noise pitching in his throat. He fell forward, setting Louis stumbling back until they crashed softly against the wall, panting.

 

Louis palmed him, slow and gentle, blue eyes meeting moss green.

 

"Louis-I-" Harry's hips pushed his heavy heat further into Louis' hand but his face creased.

 

Louis pulled back, hand resting over his heart.

 

"It is alright, Princess. As slow as you want."

 

Harry leaned into him, breath hot under his ear.

 

"I've never-before," he breathed, burying his face in Louis' neck. "I'm the Crown Prince, it is not as though one can just-- _frolic_ around with the court boys and-"

 

"Shh," Louis cupped the back of his head, arm sliding around his waist. "It is not as if I have been improper wih any boys myself."

 

He heard Harry swallow, felt him surge closer, arms tightening around his waist.

 

"That is right. You are honourable after all."

 

Louis smiled into his soft, curled hair.

 

"It is possible that you might only be after my virtue," Louis argued softly. "I should hate to give it away so readily."

 

Harry pulled back, green eyes as soft as his smile.

 

"Might we be together again? Soon?"

 

Louis smiled back shyly.

 

"Am I forgiven for being ungrateful?"

 

Harry nodded, sneaking another kiss from his lips.

 

"You should go, before my step-mother finds you."

 

Louis paused, a frown on his face as he dressed himself, small hands tucking in his shirt.

 

"I should be careful if I were you. I have not a clear idea of what was being disucssed between her Majesty the Queen and William; but the subject did not sound positive," Louis warned.

 

Harry lifted his brows, his head tilting slightly to one side. His eyes traveled down over Louis' body and back up to his face and he moved to tidy Louis' hair tenderly. Louis tucked Harry's shirt in using his fingers while he waited.

 

"Do not let them catch you listening for you will be charged with treason and I cannot rescue you from _that_."

 

Louis stepped back with a fortifying sigh. He wanted nothing better than to roll on the bed with the Prince, maybe as the Prince had pictured their first meeting in his chambers to go.

 

"I will look after myself," Louis promised. "As should you."

 

//

 

Harry and Louis orbited each other like the moon and earth , a space always between them.

 

Harry did not make much of a show to pretend he was not fond of the small brunette and his father found them together in the library most afternoons, Louis often reading aloud to Harry who lolled back in his big chair. Other times Louis would stitch while Harry talked in his slow, rich voice.

 

Gertrude had nagged him incessantly about their togetherness but Robin could not find it within himself to say something that might part the pair. He found he liked seeing his son happy. He found he also rather enjoyed Louis' company in the house.

 

Although quiet, when he was engaged, Louis proved to be intelligent and kind. Louis had also concocted some chain mail protectors for their outings on the rare chance one should take a sword to the Crowned King or Prince. Robin found him to be valuable in his counsel albeit unprofessional and unpaid advice.

 

Louis had asked him one morning among the hazy mist that had settled upon the lawn, to take extra care with his enemies. He had voiced his concerns about Harry's safety.

 

It had been a brave and bold remark, one Robin might have cuffed any other staff-member for placing forth but from Louis, he took it as a worthwhile warning.

 

The King would prepare himself for a stealth attack.

 

//

 

Harry sauntered into the long grass at the very bottom of the garden with a wide smile on his face.

 

"Is this how it feels to roll in the hay?"

 

Louis nudged up behind him, tugging on the back of his breeches. Harry had discarded his coat some time ago and carried it in one large hand.

 

"You should have to roll on the ground to find out."

 

"I shall only roll if you should too," Harry replied lightly.

 

"One would think this was an elaborate ruse to roll together," Louis suspected.

 

Harry looked over at Louis, brows drawn together.

 

"Is it incredibly awful that I desire you so?" Harry asked. 

 

Louis shook his head, looking back at him.

 

"It is only awful that we have to hide it."

 

Harry swallowed.

 

"Paris is inclusive, I have heard."

 

Louis' gaze sharpened and they carefully joined hands, the action hidden in the shrouding grasses they walked among.

 

"Paris?" Louis checked.

 

Harry nodded.

 

"We can both speak French."

 

Louis frowned.

 

"You would leave your Kingdom behind."

 

Harry smiled, his eyes bright with unspoken love.

 

"I would."

 

Louis swallowed.

 

"You would leave everything behind, just for me?"

 

"Would you?" Harry asked back.

 

Louis stared at him and knew the answer.

 

"I would."

 

"Then you will consider it?" Harry squeezed his hand. "Paris?"

 

"How could we even hope to pull off such a feat?" Louis wondered.

 

Harry looked about them and reluctantly let his fingers slip from Louis' as one of the grounds-men appeared on the distant horizon carrying back his load of pheasants to the Palace.

 

"We should have to make a plan and fast," Harry confided. "The King has expressed his desire for me to be married before the year is out."

 

Louis's eyes widened and he almost stumbled and fell. They paused as Harry steadied him.

 

"I should not wish to see you marry," Louis whispered.

 

"Nor I, you," Harry reciprocated. "I have to ride to Doncaster this very next day to appease some villagers and after that we shall together make a plan."

 

Louis swallowed, a nervous feeling creeping over his skin.

 

"You ride to Doncaster?"

 

"Yes to attend to more men who require their children to be freed from trade..."

 

"Would it be at all possible that I ride with you?" Louis asked.

 

He knew what an ask it was for he was seen much like the ladies in waiting at the Palace thanks to his feminine features and penchant for sewing.

 

"Why do you wish to join the mission?" Harry wondered.

 

Louis smiled, small and wistful.

 

"My father--it is the last place I saw him before I was taken. I had always wished to return to see for myself that he was no longer there."

 

"I could visit for you," Harry suggested. "Do you know the address?"

 

Louis stared at him, breath quick and heart swollen.

 

"You would do that?"

 

Harry smiled. It was soft and warm and it melted Louis from the inside out.

 

"Louis, I would relinquish my right to the throne to run away to France with you," he reminded gently.

 

Louis blushed at the reminder. He was undeserving of the Prince's attentions but how he loved having them. Not for the fact that he was a Prince at all, but for the fact that when Harry smiled at him, he was the only man who was rewarded with his dimples.

 

"Thank you, Harry," he murmured and they walked around the garden before heading back to the house.

 

//

 

It was much later on; when the moon had risen and the sky was filled with stars, that Harry sent for Louis.

 

Liam had given Louis the message and he crept about the dark, cold Palace with unkempt hair and his full-bodied cotton nightgown swallowing him up.

 

He knocked on the door of the library quietly, awaiting an answer and the door was opened; Harry's silhouette in the murky light filling Louis' lungs with relief.

 

"I had for one moment wondered if Getrude had decided my fate," Louis commented as he slipped into the room.

 

Harry was still dressed in breeches and socks with his favourite pair of slippers- a pale blue pair Louis had made for him just last week. His shirt was undone at the collar though and he wore no waistcoat nor jacket.

 

Louis' breath caught as they approached the lone burning candle in the candleabra rested above the fireplace in the library.

 

"Look at me," Harry asked, clutching Louis' cold hands in his own.

 

Louis looked into his eyes- darkened in the room just slivers lit by the candle and his skin glowing orange in it's casted light.

 

"Harry, what is the matter?"

 

Harry huffed out a breath, his long hair falling down; unstyled and fingered through.

 

"I need to kiss you for one last time before I go," Harry stated.

 

Louis tilted his head, slipped his hand from Harry's to cup his cheek.

 

"You have returned safely from all of your endeavors. Tomorrow shall be no different."

 

Harry caught his hand and pressed it to his chest.

 

"Tomorrow should be very different indeed." He stated.

 

Louis swallowed, his lashes flickering.

 

"Why should it?" He asked on a whsiper, his lungs tight with the fear of what Harry might answer. Should he be about to inform Louis that he has been tasked with going away for a more permananet time? That he had to marry in the very morning?

 

Harry swallowed, lifting Louis' other hand to kiss the back of it.

 

"It should be different because I have to come to care for you very much," Harry explained quietly, his voice a low rumble. "And I know it is not proper for me to speak of my enamour this way but you must know, Louis, you must-"

 

"Shh-" Louis tiptoed to press a kiss to his lips. "I feel the very same way."

 

"You must know," Harry said again, fixing his dark eyes on Louis' once more. "Your virtue will be safe with me, of that I promise. If you would promise to save it for me and not let another steal it away..."

 

Louis threw himself up against Harry's body, arms tightening quickly around his shoulders.

 

"Harry. I had promised it to you the very day we met." he breathed.

 

"Even though I called you 'mouse'?" Harry murmured, his big hands splaying on Louis' back.

 

Louis squeezed tighter.

 

"Even then."

 

They were looking at each other then, both pulling back to just stare. Harry kissed him softly this time, not as though this might be their last chance to kiss at all but as if they had every hour to just enjoy this. Harry's hand found his behind and flexed against the meat of it equally gently, hauling Louis up his body and closer, always closer to his heat and spicy smell.

 

"You have been with the horses today," Louis murmured against his ear as he sniffed his hair. "I smell hay on you..."

 

Harry smiled against his cheek, thumb brushing into hair at the nape of Louis' neck.

 

"And you smell like leather and fondant," Harry returned fondly.

 

Louis' face softened into a happy smile.

 

"I cut the pieces for your next pair of shoes and then Amelia asked me to help her decorate the cookies she had made."

 

Amelia was Harry's cousin who hated ballet. Apparently she liked baking, though.

 

"Did she speak of the time I stole her ballet lessons?" Harry mused.

 

Louis' lips pursed in a way that told Harry he was attempting to hide his mirth. He failed miserably.

 

"She did and I await to witness the result of your most daring theft," he teased.

 

Harry nudged closer as Louis' hand clawed gently down his back, settling just above the band of his breeches.

 

"Have you finished conversing, young Prince?"

 

Harry smirked, snaking his arm around Louis that much tighter as his hand snuck beneath his underwear and onto his skin; once warm but he shivered as Louis' cold hand enroached upon it.

 

"Was this a ruse to warm your cold digits, Mr. Tomlinson?"

 

Louis brushed his lips against Harry's cheek.

 

"It was a ruse to keep me warm, entirely," he murmured before kissing Harry again, letting himself get wrapped up against his strong, long body.

 

When Louis' finger probed dryily down Harry's crack, a broken sound scratched from his throat.

 

"We must find some oil," he begged throatily.

 

"We could be caught at any second," Louis reminded him quietly, shh'ing him by stroking tender fingers through his hair.

 

Harry pressed against him with a frustrated growl.

 

"I burn to be with you," Harry expressed on a haggered sigh.

 

Louis could feel the heat that Harry spoke of, both from the other man and in his own belly.

 

"We must wait, Harry," Louis clutched him close and ached with the same desire that Harry talked about.

 

Harry grumbled out an agreement after long moments of being consoled in Louis' arms.

 

Louis stepped away finally, tugging at the shrouding white cotton of his gown.

 

"However do you desire me in this anyway?" Louis wondered bemusedly.

 

Harry's hand reached out to tug at the material gently.

 

"I desire you whatever you should wear," he promised.

 

Louis swallowed, taking another step back with a big sigh.

 

"I must take leave," he repeated.

 

"Wait, I want to give you something," Harry's fingers circled a digit on his other hand, twisting at a ring there.

 

"Harry, have you lost your mind?" Louis whispered frantically. "People should think I stole it from you!"

 

"Then do not wear it but keep it hidden," Harry said. "If you were my betrothed, then I would be expected to give you my ring..."

 

Louis' lips parted as Harry presented him with his gold sovereign ring, depicted upon its surface was the face of a lion.

 

"Harry," he besseched. "You cannot pass this to me, I am merely a seamstress, a slave boy!"

 

Harry's brows drew together and his lips pursed in a determined fashion that Louis was becoming all too used to.

 

"It matters not on ounce to me what you are Louis. Only how I feel. And if you feel the same way then you can show it. By taking this ring."

 

Louis stared at him, clutching the ring, his lungs burning with indecision. If he was to take the ring and be found with it, he would lose his hand for certain and possibly his life. If he did not take it, Harry would think he did not love him.

 

Louis would rather lose his life than lose Harry. He curled the ring into his palm and pressed a warm kiss to Harry's lips.

 

"Be careful," he begged before he turned to go, scurrying out of the room.

 

//

 

Preparation for a stealth attack was not key to avoiding it. Word got to Louis before the King did.

 

A messenger had been sent back to fetch back up; for the Prince had been injured when an unexpected battle broke out between the protesting men and the King's party.

 

It was not clear if the Prince was fatally wounded but Louis' heart had clutched in his chest on hearing the news from Liam and he had begged the man for information on how to get to Doncaster as quickly as possible.

 

"They are bringing him back, Louis," Liam had told him. "You must wait for his return..."

 

"He might be brought in a coffin, Liam!" Louis had snapped, pacing fraughtfully back and forth in his room. "Perhaps I can be of help- stitch him up!" He posed.

 

Liam had tried to calm him down but Louis was tearful and distraught.

 

Louis went to his night stand and opened the drawer, unravelling a length of cloth to bare its contents to his friend.

 

"He gave me this," he expressed to Liam. "As a promise."

 

Liam recognised the ring straight away and his brown gaze pressed to Louis' quickly.

 

"His Majesty loves you?" He asked.

 

Louis swallowed.

 

"He has not spoken those words."

 

"He has," Liam awed of the ring. "That ring means a very great deal to him, it is the last thing he has of his Mother's giving..."

 

Louis felt his stomach drop; his knees giving way as he fell to them on the ground.

 

"What can I do?" He begged.

 

Liam was about in the process of hauling Louis up, when a short sharp knock sounded on the door.

 

Liam turned, opening it the slither required to see the visitor.

 

"Your Majesty!" Liam bowed to the King immediately, breathless with shock.

 

The King never ventured into staff quarters under any circumstances.

 

"Is Tomlinson of France with you?" The King asked gruffly.

 

Liam nodded.

 

"Your Majesty, this is not the best time for a visit, I am afraid he is-"

 

The King pushed the half-open door fully open, taking in the sight of Louis knelt on the floor, tears streaming down his gaunt cheeks. He was gaining weight now but he was impossibly small to begin with. Louis had slipped the ring into his waistcoat pocket out of sight before the King had caught him unprepared.

 

"Tomlinson, get yourself up," he instructed.

 

Louis got onto shaky feet, wiping his eyes with a determined jut of his chin.

 

"Yes, Your Majesty. How can I serve you?"

 

"My son," Robin said, taking a breath and sighing it out. "He is alive," he added importantly.

 

Liam dashed to Louis' side to save his knees weakening again.

 

"Thank God," he whispered.

 

"I do not dare to fathom what the dickens is going on but I know for certain that treason is being committed in this very house."

 

Liam and Louis stared at the man, suddenly very still and quiet.

 

"You had warned me and now it has happened. Tell me- was this of your doing?"

 

Louis gaped, his heart thudding loud and hard in his chest.

 

"Your Majesty, I would not!" He cried. "Please, you must believe me!"

 

"Then what do you know?" Robin demanded.

 

Liam cleared his throat.

 

"This conversation would be better conducted in the library, Your Majesty," he suggested.

 

"Very well," Robin turned on his heel. "Present yourself in thirty minutes."

 

Liam let out a breath of relief and turned to Louis, grasping him by the arms.

 

"You must tell him all that you know," he begged.

 

Louis, a little shakily, nodded his head.

 

"He may not believe me."

 

"Then I will walk to the square and be hanged with you," he promised.

 

Louis began to shake his head but Liam told him to get dressed into his finest clothes for their meeting with the King.

 

//

 

The King had headed out at sunset armed with the information Louis had supplied.

 

Gertrude was conveniently staying at her cousin's house in Portsmouth and William was attending with her ladies in waiting.

 

Louis only cared what was happening with Harry.

 

The King had told him in quiet, soft tones that he was in a fit enough state to be stretchered back to London and that his very best Medic was waiting for his arrival. Louis waited in the parlour after setting it up for Harry; laying out sheets and blankets and making him a comfortable surface to lie upon.

 

He was bloodied when he arrived, stabbed in the side but the blade having missed any major organs.

 

Louis had nervously attended to any assistance the Medic required, his face grave as he watched Harry's naked torso writhe on the makeshift bed he'd concocted earlier that day.

 

Finally darkness fell and Louis promised to keep watch over the Prince; Liam his cohort in sitting watch.

 

//

 

After merely ten minutes of continuous pacing and pausing to stare toward the occupant of the four post bed (where Harry had been moved to after immediate care), Louis was reprimanded by his new friend.

 

"For goodness' sake, attend to the Prince as you wish," Liam sighed. "I shall not be shocked."

 

Louis glanced at him.

 

"Are you certain it will not make you uncomfortable?"

 

Liam smiled.

 

"To see him cared for is all that I truly desire." Liam admitted. 

 

Louis approached the bed and hitched himself on the edge. His hand reached out to tug the silk covers up an inch, his palm smoothing over them and his fingers dusting Harry's arms, rested upon the sheets.

 

"I am incredibly happy that you are home safely," he murmured. "I only wish that I was there to help."

 

Harry's nostrils flared, his throat swallowing dryly.

 

"Contrary to your insistence, I am not a flower," Harry stated. His voice was gravelled and low and Louis stood to pour a glass of water from the jug at the bedside.

 

He helped Harry to sit up enough to sip it. Harry lolled against Louis somewhat; pinning him in place.

 

Louis- with one arm around the Prince's waist to support him, carefully combed through his errant curls.

 

"You may have commanded a new fashion by banning wigs but you must still comb your hair. It is frightfully improper to wear it tousled so."

 

Harry smiled, his eyes still closed, his body still heavy with healing his wound.

 

"I wished to leave a task for you, little mouse. I should despise it if there was no good reason for your attendance..."

 

Louis smiled too, curling Harry close to press his lips against his bedraggled hair.

 

"How I have missed you," Louis expressed. The hours he had spent worrying dwindled to that very moment; holding Harry close.

 

Harry hummed in his throat.

 

" _Petit souris_ ," he mumbled half consciously as he slipped back into slumber.

 

//

 

Harry was up and about three days later. He required the use of a crutch and struggled about in half-dress of his shirt and breeches but Louis could not forget the three days he had spent stolen moments curled around Harry's resting form on his grand bed.

 

Harry it seemed, missed his presence. He took great risk in visiting Louis' room in the staff quarters one night, curling up s-shaped on Louis' small cot and letting Louis curl up behind him.

 

Louis had whispered a great many things to him in French and had told Harry he could not expect to recover fully without a proper night's sleep in his four poster.

 

"I cannot sleep without you now," Harry had replied. "It is impossible."

 

Louis had smiled at him and they had kissed unhurriedly in the light of the dawn, wrapping together softly and listening to each other breathe.

 

Harry had slipped away before the house had stirred but the King had not returned from Portsmouth and Louis feared the worst.

 

Should the King be the target of the plan that Gertrude had spoken of then Harry would be forced to take his place on the throne. Louis would lose the only man he had ever come to love. 

 

It was in the long grass that Louis told him.

 

"Harry, I have something to confess."

 

Harry had smirked at him.

 

"Let me guess. You are not wearing undergarments?"

 

Louis laughed. The Prince had a wonderful sense of humour when he felt comfortable enough to share it.

 

"What a ridiculous thing to say!"

 

Harry grinned.

 

"Is it true?"

 

Louis' smile faded a little.

 

"That is not my confession."

 

Harry had found a tree and leaned them upon its trunk. He cupped Louis' face- no longer gaunt from malnutrition. The sight pleased him.

 

The staff were accustomed to having Harry enter the kitchen for the sole purpose of feeding the smaller man and they bid no mind to the pair of them sneaking into the pantry. Harry rewarded his staff in kind, allowing them an extra six-pence to spend as they wished.

 

"What is it, Louis?"

 

Louis took a breath.

 

"Your Majesty...my Prince...I fear I have stumbled into a situation which I had not intentionally planned-"

 

"Louis," Harry garnered his gaze and Louis swallowed.

 

He wasn't making any sense and he needed Harry to understand before this moment was broken and ruined like so many others they tried to share.

 

He looked into reverent green eyes.

 

"Harry, I am sorry to say that I am in love with you," he stated with a soft breath out. "Actually very much. To distraction almost."

 

Louis stared at him, wanting to gauge his answer, wanting to know his response before it was ready perhaps.

 

Harry looked bemused.

 

"I do not see why you should be sorry for such a thing," he huffed. "Louis, I have loved you for quite some time," he expressed. "Since I gave you my ring, in fact."

 

Louis caught his wild breath.

 

"I thought-- I thought it was just a promise for my virtue, to not-"

 

Harry wound his arms slowly around Louis' waist, holding him carefully, dipping his head to kiss him sweetly on the mouth.

 

"I have booked us two train tickets to leave London this coming weekend. We must take leave at midnight on Friday to make it to the station unseen. We can take Delilah and pay a boy to lead her away. Louis, my love for you far outweighs my obligation to this country. Please tell me you have not had a change of heart?"

 

Louis tiptoed to press a kiss to the Prince's mouth.

 

"I have not."

 

Harry let out a relieved breath and took a reluctant step back.

 

"We must be extra careful not to be seen," he said.

 

Louis nodded.

 

"I shall not let you down, Princess."

 

Harry's eyes dashed to his, alight with amusement and fondness.

 

"I fear you will never tire of that moniker," Harry lamented with a fake sigh of annoyance.

 

Louis smiled.

 

"I never will."

 

//

 

The King returned to the Palace on Thursday.

 

Gertrude and William had confessed all under duress from the King's guards and they were to be marched to the gallows that very Sunday before church.

 

Robin had burst into the parlour to find Louis embroidering some curtains for Amelia's bedroom.

 

"By jove, Louis Tomlinson of France, you were absolutely right!"

 

Louis jumped up, laying his sewing gently to one side so he could bow.

 

"Your Majesty."

 

The King waved away his formalities in much the same way Harry had the first time they had met.

 

"Never mind that, dear boy..." Robin strode into the room full of bluster. He rested his hands on his hips under his jacket. "You saved the life of my son and possibly my own, too."

 

Louis shook his head, biting at his lips.

 

"I did not save Ha-The Prince," he amended quickly. "He was hurt during battle."

 

"But he is alive and well," The King boomed. "And your protective clothing played a great part in that along with the thought that our enemies could strike at any moment."

 

Louis stood with his hands behind his back, chin lowered. He glanced up.

 

"I thank you for your kind words," he murmured, unsure of what was to happen next.

 

He didn't expect Robin to turn and band arms tightly around him; hugging him fiercely against his barrelled chest.

 

"I thank _you_ , my child. For all that you have brought to the Palace. I am only sorry that we did not save you from that dungeon sooner..."

 

Louis smiled wryly, twisting his lips.

 

"I am not sad that I came to be here, no matter how long it took," he offered.

 

Robin looked upon him for a moment, his brows drawing together slightly.

 

"You care for my son." He stated.

 

It was not a question nor an accusation but Louis felt a blush flood his cheeks even so. He swallowed, biting his lip and turning his gaze back to the ground.

 

There were a great many things he could say- how Harry had been the one who had saved him; how he had worried about Louis before he knew him well enough to justify it. But he feared any of the words he spoke would only reveal the true nature in his heart and so he breathed evenly through his nose while he waited for the King to retire from the room.

 

He let out a soft, "Yes, Your Majesty," when the King did not appear to make a move.

 

Robin nodded, laying a hand on Louis' shoulder.

 

"He cares for you, too," he said only, turning and striding from the room.

 

Louis looked at Liam with wide eyes and mouth.

 

Liam smiled so that his eyes crinkled and his eyes sparkled.

 

"He may not force Harry to get married after all," he shared.

 

Louis ducked his face guiltily, wondering if he could trust Liam with the truth.

 

"We plan to run away," Louis shared in a whisper, coming closer to share his secret. "This very weekend. The future is not certain and I could not bear to watch him marry another."

 

Liam laid firm hands upon his upper arms.

 

"I wish you all the best, my friend. I cannot say I will not be sad to see you go but I understand your reason entirely. I should only wish to come with you if I was not to play the part of a third wheel!"

 

Louis let out a quiet huff of laughter; pushing forth to hug Liam tightly.

 

"You are the reason I found him. I will never forget."

 

Liam rubbed his back and pulled away.

 

"Let us find you some nice clothes to take on your journey. We shall tell the Palace that you are to visit family."

 

"Do not tell them France," Louis begged. "They will know where to find us."

 

Liam nodded.

 

"Then you are going to Spain. Your ancestors own a farmhouse among the olive fields. You are to reside there for the summer."

 

Louis smiled at the story Liam concocted, following him into the staff quarters to pack his bag.

 

//

 

Harry had adorned a disguise to aid their escape un-noticed.

 

He tied his hair back and dressed in a coach-man's uniform, a tricorne perched upon his head. He had not shaved; his face bristly with new-grown hair.

 

Louis wore his usual street-boy's clothes, wrapped in a blanket for cover. He had stuffed his bag full of treats from the pantry and hoped the cooks would not mind.

 

He was in the yard under the silver moon awaiting Harry who was fetching Delilah. The gate-keeper was asleep; his keys easily withdrawn from his belt and Louis had unlocked the iron gates ready for Harry's gallop down the drive.

 

Only it was not coming; the sound of hooves was not evident and his heartbeat pattered loudly in the silence; his fear over-taking all that he felt otherwise.

 

What if Harry would not come? What if it had all been a ruse? What if he had tricked Louis or planned to march him to his own hanged death this very Sunday with his step-mother and the King's aide?

 

Louis did not know what to do and so he panicked and fled. He could not remain within the four walls of the Palace knowing that Harry did not truly love him. He could not watch the Prince fall for anyone else.

 

He slipped through the iron gates and climbed into the side-ditch by the road, starting a long and cold journey towards the harbour to board a boat to Bayeux. He had enough coins to make the journey but what he did when he got there he did not know.

 

//

 

"Where are you taking the horses at this hour?"

 

Harry twisted, leather reins loosely looped in his hand as he stroked Delilah's flank.

 

"Father," he greeted with a swallow. He schooled his features to hide his fear.

 

"I asked you a question," Robin repeated.

 

Harry looked at his Father dressed in his expensive cotton nightshirt, overthrown with a thick woolen night gown. It was one Louis had fashioned from a tapestry that was only to be unpicked and sold for thread.

 

"There has been news of a small boy lost in the square," Harry lied, arching a brow. "I should like to see that he makes it home safely."

 

Harry's heart had never pounded so hard, he had never had his mind travel at such speeds in utter haywire as to the thoughts crowding it.

 

Louis was waiting for him; possibly seen and captured by now. Possibly gone for mistaken assumption that Harry was not to follow.

 

Robin looked at him assessingly, eyes narrowing shrewdly as a hum escaped his throat.

 

"Harold, I have never known you to lie to me and yet I feel I am being spun a yarn," Robin mused. "If I am to let you ride away should you promise to return?"

 

Something like a grimace flickered across Harry's features but before he could open his mouth- either to tell the truth or find another lie to spout- a loud screaming came from the house.

 

"Your Majesty! Come quickly!" Natasha flung open a window to bellow.

 

Although the action was most unbefitting of a young lady, Harry didnt have a mind to care. Robin looked from the house to Harry in quick succession.

 

He grasped him quickly in a tight hold.

 

"Take care of yourself, son. You are not yet fully healed from your last sword fight..."

 

Harry bowed his head with a relieved breath out.

 

"I shall, Father. Attend to the maids," he added as he turned his horse towards the gate.

 

//

 

It was halfway down the great long road that led up to the driveway of the Palace that Louis heard horse-step.

 

He scrambled to climb up to the road to fetch a look at who was approaching since he was not certain that the King had not sent guards to collect him from his folly.

 

"Louis! Wherever are you!" Harry's voice was hushed but low, flecked with worry.

 

Louis tried to get a foothold on the trench and failed, his slight stature not a benefit in his current situation.

 

"I am here!" He called bravely, waving his hands in the hope that he might be seen. The horse's hooves slowed to a stop, the clatter of impatient treading sounding thereafter.

 

"Little mouse, is that you?" Harry knelt at the edge of the road.

 

Louis rolled his eyes and huffed.

 

"Yes, it is I," he confirmed.

 

"Put up your hands so that I may reach for you," Harry instructed.

 

Louis lifted his hands and Harry caught hold of them. Using his feet to walk up the wall, he fell unsteadily into the side of the road; coated in dirt and sweepings to his dislike.

 

"What the dickens were you thinking?" Harry scolded as he brushed him off, only to sweep him close; holding on tightly. His breath fell fast against Louis' hair, warm and sweet.

 

Louis let himself remain in place for a long moment. He had been saved, after all.

 

"I had thought that perhaps you had been detained, that-"

 

Harry pulled away, a cross look on his face. His lips jutted into a pout as his big hands cupped Louis' face in them gently.

 

"Perhaps what?" Harry demanded.

 

Louis let his gaze drop to Harry's chest. He was buttoned into a waistcoat and overcoat but he was still as broad and beautiful as always.

 

"I thought perhaps you had changed your mind," Louis admitted softly on a swallow. "I am but a servant after all."

 

Harry kissed the top of his head, urging his face upwards in his hands.

 

"I am but a man as you are," he expressed with an earnest expression. He did not wait to check the coast before leaning down to place a very tender kiss to Louis' lips. "I would not leave you."

 

Louis let a tentative smile slip onto his lips.

 

"Shall we escape, then?"

 

Harry stepped back, turning to reach for his horse and boosting Louis into the saddle before heaving himself up onto the animal behind him.

 

"Hold onto something," Harry told him roughly in his ear, his arms coming around either side of Louis to command the reins.

 

Louis went to grasp the pummel but the quick cast of the horse galloping forth knocked him back slightly; his back falling to Harry's chest. His hands of their own volition gripped onto lean, muscled thighs; his fingers grasping at the navy material weakly.

 

"I rather like the something you chose to hold," Harry laughed as Delilah thundered away.

 

//

 

They had to avoid detection at the port. They managed to smuggle onto a cargo ship, huddled together in the hull with other poor merchants seeking riches across the Channel.

 

Louis shrouded Harry's shoulders with his blanket, feeling the bigger man shiver under his arm.

 

"Do you think you can bare it?" Louis asked. "We shall have to live like the poor until we find work..."

 

Harry smirked.

 

"I cannot pretend I will not miss my silk sheets and four-post bed," Harry mused.

 

Louis swallowed, kicking away a rat that looked to be enamoured with his feet.

 

"Should you miss it too much I would forgive you if you wished to return."

 

Harry shook his head and ducked under Louis' arm a bit more, tucking his head into the crook of Louis' neck.

 

"My home should be where you are, no matter how cold and damp."

 

Louis flicked his eyes around the hull, refusing to let melancholy rule over him.

 

"I shall make a great many beautiful shoes," he stated. "Enough to afford you silk sheets," he added with a smile.

 

Harry smiled too, against his shoulder.

 

"I shall be the Princess who makes the house look pretty."

 

Louis let his eyes slip shut to catch a few winks before their ship docked.

 

//

 

Harry was pirouetting.

 

Louis had not ever had the income to enjoy the ballet, he had only caught snatches of a rehearsal one night when he was collecting some leftovers from the theatre- some silk uniforms they no longer required that were to be made into shoes.

 

To see a grown man; a regal figure-head and his love dancing across the cobbled streets of Bayeux in the moonlight with an abandon Louis was sure he did not often possess was something of a gift in sight.

 

He had to run to catch him up, to clasp him into his arms and dance with him; their laughter loud and free; their faces alight with excitement.

 

"We must find horses!" Louis reminded him breathlessly.

 

Harry slowed his circles, cradling Louis in his arms. The streets were quiet except for the clatter of horse-hooves and rowdy drunkards falling into the cobbled lanes. They stayed out of sight, waltzing by the river.

 

"The horses can wait," Harry said lowly. "I want to dance."

 

Louis looked up into the bright handsome face of his partner.

 

"Is this to be part of your courting of me?" He enquired with a warm smile. "I know how you like to abide by the rules on such matters..."

 

"I abide by _your_ rules," Harry ducked to whisper into his ear, curling him close. "What say you, Louis Tomlinson? Louis of France...my little mouse. Am I to court you?"

 

Louis let them sway in time to unheard music, the far-off strains of an accordian floating down wind on the waters of the Aure.

 

"I should very much like to be courted," Louis agreed. "But I should in addition very much like to be on our way to Paris, where we can cavort without the fear of being upturned to the guards."

 

Harry smiled happily, soft delight glowing on his features.

 

"We are already free," he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to Louis' forehead. "I wish to kiss you for a long, long time!"

 

Harry broke away to pirouette once more, dancing along the riverside; in movement to its flow.

 

"Let us kiss then," Louis caught him up to tell him. "Under the blanket of the moon and stars."

 

He led Harry by the hand down underneath a bridge, crowding him into the moon-flecked bricks under the arch and pressing close.

 

"Mon beau pétale nous l'avons fait (We made it, my beautiful petal)," Louis whispered. "Ma parfaite rose rouge (My perfect red rose)."

 

"You are quite the romantic, Louis of France," Harry observed with a smirk. "Perhaps you use that tongue to persuade your lovers to rid all of their outer clothing and dip naked in the sea?"

 

Louis grinned, pushing onto his toes to kiss the man who was altogether ridiculous and perfect; an ideal match to himself.

 

Their kiss was somehow tentative, quiet and meaningful. Each brush of their lips started a tremor inside; lit a fire within that fanned gently with flickering flame.

 

"How I long to lay with you," Harry told him.

 

"And I with you. We must find our way to Paris," Louis said once more.

 

Harry's nose nudged his cheek.

 

"Perhaps we should find a temporary place at first, in case Paris is too obvious an escape. We could find a farm and work for our keep..."

 

Louis bit his lips and nodded his agreement.

 

"Let us find a small farm, then," he said, stepping back to take Harry's hand and lead them back into the light.

 

//

 

They went to Beaumont-du-Gâtinais. The wheat trade there was solid with a covered market-place and it seemed a strong option for work.

 

Harry put himself to work in the fields with the head Farmer, a man called Antoine Devereux. It was hard work; especially for a man who had spent his life being waited-upon and pampered but Louis did not hear him complain once.

 

Louis- _being rather slight and judged as rather feminine in_ _nature_ \- was adopted by the famer's wife, Madelaine and he took on a great many tasks including stitching up their clothing, sewing new curtains and cushions for the house as well as making a ream of jams and pickles for the family to enjoy or sell at market.

 

He began to wear tighter jackets and looser breeches, longer trousers with no socks and moccasins on his feet. Harry wore thick-cloth overalls and tied up his hair, refusing to get it cut despite much cajoling from the Farmer and his wife.

 

They shared a room in the hay loft, in the rafters. They had two single mattresses but they pushed them together and the heat from the animals kept below meant they were warm and cosy; despite the smell of manure that lingered upon them.

 

They could still not risk being together, completely. The chance of being found out was far too great and although Antoine and Madelaine had not asked questions of their history or origin, they both knew that pushing their luck could cause their ultimate downfall.

 

The King's guards had already ridden from Bayeux to Paris in search of them and they had not turned around and gone back home as they had hoped, but had fanned out across the country to search harder. They had to stay hidden for much longer than they had hoped but Louis couldn't help but worry about the physical exertion that Harry undertook each day.

 

"Ah! My back!" Harry rolled over one morning and clutched at himself.

 

Louis rolled over, too, lifting his shirt to kiss it better.

 

"Roll onto your front, I shall massage it," Louis suggested to Harry's low grumbling.

 

He perched himself across Harry's thighs and reached for the muscle-rub Madelaine had given him.

 

"Should you have oil?" Harry enquired.

 

Louis' hand paused from grasping the small tin of joint rub and instead fingered the long thin bottle of olive oil. Harry used it to moisten his parched hands but they both knew of a better use.

 

"You should get too frisky with it," Louis teased, lifting the bottle up and looking through the amber liquid into the sunlight peeking through the beams.

 

"Perhaps a little indulgence would not hurt," Harry suggested.

 

Louis peeled his night-shirt up his back, baring his backside. He opened the bottle and trickled a little of the contents over his ass; watching it slide down his crack.

 

"Mon dieu," he expressed teasingly as Harry's butt cheeks flexed against the feeling of the oil dripping into his skin.

 

Harry rested his chin on his hands- stacked palm-down against each other on the floor. He turned his head to one side.

 

"Are you to watch me all morning?" He asked.

 

Louis circled both palms over his butt cheeks, using his thumbs to spread the oil to the inner sides, brushing gently against a tight ring of muscle he had only had a small chance to touch.

 

"My pretty rosebud," he murmured. "I missed you so."

 

Harry grinned, his dimples lengthening into his cheeks. His hair was a sorry mess of flat curls and wavy ends. He no longer coiffed his hair and the longer he spent away from the Palace, the less regal he appeared. The dirt under his fingernails was proof to that.

 

"Then tell me," Harry encouraged. "Show me," he added lowly afterwards.

 

Louis massaged his spasmed back-muscles first, leaving his pleasure until last. It was quite easy, flicking his tongue into the oily crease of Harry's behind, sliding fingers there and pushing fingertips gently against him, working insistently around his rim.

 

"You insist to tease me!" Harry huffed as Louis pressed his thumb-pad against his hole.

 

Louis climbed over him, laying his slight weight against one side of Harry's back where he could hold himself up, still able to reach low to-

 

"Oh!" Harry's surprise was gasped out, followed by a deep, rumbling, "L-Louis..." that had Louis groaning, shifting against him.

 

He was still clothed in flannel pyjamas, a necessity in the damp rafters but the material was smooth as he brushed himself against Harry's warm skin.

 

"Can I not have you in my arms?" Harry complained mildly, opening his mouth as Louis twisted two fingers inside, scissoring them slightly. He managed not to whimper but it was a close thing. Louis could not know what power he held over him, he was the bread-winner here, the brawn in their duo.

 

"So pretty," Louis murmured. "Still my Princess, hm?"

 

Harry pushed back on his two digits, grazing his manhood against the mattress beneath, a flimsy thing that did not cushion his back at all. The twinge of pain in his side was all but forgotten with Louis' touch on him, _inside_ him this way.

 

Harry pushed up into his elbows, ducking his head to gulp in air.

 

"Will you- Louis, _please_. You have my token of promise...."

 

Louis stroked at Harry's walls with latent fingertips, stretching them wider apart and watching him take a breath with each try. Harry was asking him to indulge in intercourse but it was sunlight and they had barely any time before their chores would become urgent.

 

Louis shifted further onto Harry's back, wedging his fingers inside as he rolled his hips, pushing Harry further into the mattress beneath. It drew a pleasured moan from Harry's lips, his hair a tangled mess upon his shoulders.

 

"I should like to kiss you," Harry murmured lowly, rutting against the floor himself now, pushing back onto Louis' fingers.

 

Louis slipped beside him, fingers sliding away from his ass to tighten around his heat instead, sliding easily with the help of the oil. As Harry pushed closer to find leverage; griding himself against Louis' hip, Louis pressed fingertips back against his rim gently, kissing him messily among the dust of the hay and the sunlight falling in.

 

"Harry, you look so beautiful," he whispered against his rose-like lips, eyes closing as his own body yearned for a pinnacle they hadn't yet reached.

 

"This is so very filthy," Harry whispered. "We have no chaperone and no engagement ring..."

 

"I should hope we have no chaperone," Louis gasped as Harry ground into him, striking against his own hard length. "Merde!"

 

Harry curled him into his arms, rubbing against him as Louis fisted around his hardness the best he could, Harry too big for his small hand. It didn't seem to cool his ardour, he pushed into his hand with breathy moans and loud swallows, kisses sucked onto Louis' neck and collarbones when his fingers dared to dip inside.

 

They ejaculated together that way, tightly entwined and heavily aroused. The morning sun did not mean much to them for they both shone as brightly to the other.

 

Louis cradled Harry to him gently in the aftermath; held equally tenderly by his lover.

 

"I cannot wait until we get to Paris," Harry whispered, dragging his lips over Louis' bared chest.

 

Louis stroked his hair.

 

"We will find a way," he promised.

 

Harry looked up at him, earning a short kiss.

 

"I do not wish to rush you," he stated, his pupils tightening in the glare of the sunlight filtering through the beams.

 

Louis merely kissed him a moment longer.

 

"I have wanted to make love with you from the moment we met," Harry shared shyly, as though it was a forbidden secret. "But I will wait for all time until you permit it."

 

Louis swallowed.

 

"My fear of being caught is overwhelming. But I will find a way for us to be together. I promise."

 

Harry reluctantly rolled away, wincing as he struggled to sit upright.

 

"Today shall be a difficult day," he predicted.

 

Louis got up and stood before him, offering a hand.

 

"Then I shall help you through it."

 

//

 

"Monsier Tomlinson," Madelaine addressed Louis as he shelled peas for dinner.

 

"Ah, Madame," he bowed his head with a fond smile. The woman had become something of a mother-figure to him and she doted on him despite the fact many might shun him for his delicate ways.

 

"Tell me something," she enquired, her brows raising curiously.

 

Louis' gaze had been distracted outside for a moment; watching Harry walk up to the stables with the horses, ready to brush them down. He itched to help, to take the pressure off his beau.

 

"Oui?" He answered automatically in French despite her attempt to speak in English.

 

"You and 'Arry...you are secret lovers, _non_?"

 

Louis dashed his gaze to hers, swallowing hard.

 

"Non," he attempted a convincing frown. "We are comrades, you see."

 

"Comrades?" She repeated with an amused smile. "You think I do not see the way you look at him..."

 

Louis felt fear lurch in his chest; felt his heart jack-knife and his belly lollop.

 

"He does not know," he tried for the least damage, incriminating himself only. "Harry does not know how I feel and he should not-"

 

"Louis," Madelaine soothed him with a soft voice, using his first name instead of the formal address she usually preferred. "I have seen how he looks at you, too."

 

Louis opened his eyes wide, biting his lip.

 

"Please, Madame," he put down his peas and wiped his hands against his apron- a yellow flowered thing that Madelaine had pulled out of the closet to bestow him with. "We will be gone in the morning. Please, do not call the guards."

 

Madelaine gave him a funny look.

 

"You think I wish to part you?" She scoffed, cuffing his arm gently. "My boy, I only wish to hear your truth. You have spent the last month staring moon-eyed at the boy and yet I have not heard one word of how you feel."

 

Louis flicked his eyes back to the window; Harry now visible in the driveway, brushing down the horses one by one. He looked weary, his back seemed to twinge when he bent a certain way.

 

"May I help him with the horses? He has hurt his back but refused to say a word..."

 

Madelaine looked surprised.

 

"My dear, of course you can. You must go. Send 'Arry inside so that I can tend to his aches and pains," she added.

 

Louis paused at the doorway, turning inside to press a kiss to Madelaine's brow.

 

"Thank you," he whispered urgently. "Merci, beaucoup."

 

The older woman waved him away.

 

//

 

The next day, Harry was given the day off.

 

Louis had been asked to ride to Villeneuve to pick up some fabrics to start stitching dresses for the village women. Madeleine seemed to think his talent was such that they could sell whatever he made and Louis was only too happy to oblige.

 

Harry rode beside him in corduroy trousers, his over shirt untied at the neck and his hair flipped out of his face. It felt almost normal. It felt incredibly real.

 

The King's guards had been called back to England to deal with an uprising; the war on revolution growing in strength and numbers. Harry tried to hide his worry when such news landed on French shores but Louis knew he missed his family greatly.

 

Madeleine had hidden a hamper in the cart which Louis discovered when they reached town and was loading up the fabrics. He looked to Harry when he climbed back into the driving seat.

 

"We should have a picnic," he suggested brightly.

 

Harry gave him a smirk.

 

"As you wish," he granted and Louis pulled off.

 

Harry got to roll in the grass. For the last month of practically living amongst hay, it was an inexplicable feeling to roll Louis underneath him and kiss his mouth freely, with no worry of who might find them.

 

Louis giggled under his weight, a fact that had Harry enamored.

 

"To see your smile," he said, eyes alight.

 

Louis was pinned underneath him, Harry straddling his waist.

 

"To hear your love declarations!" Louis taunted, grinning wide.

 

Harry leaned down to kiss him slowly, curling Louis close into him to do so; letting him feel every throb of love that flooded Harry's veins.

 

"I should have enough coins to buy you a ring, soon," Harry expressed happily.

 

Louis gaped.

 

"I already have your ring!" He pointed the sovereign into Harry's face as a reminder. "You will not spend another penny-" Louis cut himself off, rolling on top of Harry as he went soft and quiet.

 

"Harry?"

 

Harry smiled, fingers fiddling with the edges of Louis' shirt.

 

"Yes, Louis?"

 

"Have you been working more to pay for this ring?"

 

It all made sense suddenly. Harry had been gone from dawn until dusk, with Louis waiting impatiently by the kitchen window for him to trail in, exhausted and worn. He would quickly serve the men their dinner, making their chairs comfortable to rest in after their meal. How he hated seeing Harry so tired and beat and all for something so trivial!

 

Harry bit his lip against a smile.

 

"Perhaps."

 

"Harry!" Louis cupped his face. "You are exhausted! You must stop at once."

 

Harry's hands settled into his waist.

 

"You do not wish for an engagement ring? My promise?"

 

"I have your promise," Louis pressed a kiss to his chest, where his shirt gaped open. He tugged at the strings, tying them into a pretty bow and kissing Harry's lips chastely after. "I want nothing more than you," he added quietly.

 

"I am a man of honour," Harry reminded him.

 

"You have honoured me, Harry," Louis beseeched. He lay down against him, curling into his arms. "You have waited so long to be with me. Longer than any man has the right to ask you to wait..."

 

"Shh," Harry rubbed over Louis' back, his other hand gently circling his delicate wrist. "I will wait until the stars refuse to shine."

 

"Please do not work so hard," Louis whispered. "I want you alive and well."

 

Harry chuckled, pressing a kiss to Louis' temple.

 

"I wish to be alive and well, also."

 

"Keep the money for Paris," Louis suggested. "We will have far better use for it there."

 

Harry sighed, earning a kiss to his chin from Louis; his bristle still present in an attempt to disguise his features.

 

"I suppose I could withhold my desire to bestow you with extravagant gifts..."

 

Louis moved to straddle him, sitting up in his lap.

 

"We only have a few more hours."

 

"And no oil to speak of," Harry derided.

 

Louis unbuttoned Harry's breeches boldly, fingers idling upon the soft material shrouding his manhood.

 

"I have heard about an oral pleasure that can be bestowed upon a man," he shared softly.

 

Harry gave him a quizzical smile.

 

"It is high time I pleasured you," he argued of Louis' proposal, leaning up to do just that.

 

Louis gently pushed against his shoulder where he rocked back against the grassy ground.

 

"You have worked hard enough already," he assured, shuffling down to get to work.

 

//

 

Harry was flushed when they finally arrived back at the farm-house, forgetting that they were holding hands as they tumbled into the house via the kitchen, Madeleine standing at the stove stirring a creamy chicken casserole on the oven-top.

 

"Bonne après-midi!" She beamed, her eyes drifting to their tangled fingers and then to Louis' hot face as they quickly found other things to occupy their fingers.

 

"Bonjour," Louis greeted. "I hope we are not running too late?"

 

Madeleine arched a brow.

 

"I expected you to be gone much longer," she mused. "You are still courting, I see," she added of their flushed faces.

 

Harry gave Louis a nervous glance. Louis gave him an adoring look.

 

"Madeleine is a smart woman," he ventured. "She has worked out that I am in love with you."

 

Harry's gaze moved to the farmer's wife, confusion evident in his features.

 

"Is this true, Madeleine?" He asked.

 

Madeleine smiled.

 

"Do not think I do not know you feel the same," she accused lightly.

 

Harry grinned, his dimples appearing in his cheeks.

 

"I shall not deny it."

 

"Antoine does not care about such things," she flicked her hand dismissively. "But tell me...have you had a good afternoon?"

 

Harry peeked at Louis.

 

"He is all that I could ask for," he stated softly.

 

Louis tried to ignore the warmth that shimmered over his skin.

 

"And you, sweet Louis?"

 

"I would rather be nowhere else in the world," he shared.

 

"You both best get washed up for dinner," Madeleine dismissed them. "I will be serving in a short quarter of an hour."

 

They moved to get washed up in the farm-house bathroom, taking turns in the tin bath and finding fresh clothes from their stock in the hay loft.

 

Harry stood behind Louis as he checked himself in the small gilded mirror they'd been loaned. He splayed his hands on Louis' belly and pressed warm lips to his cheek.

 

"We have found someone who accepts us," he murmured.

 

Louis smiled big, his teeth flashing white against his red lips.

 

"She likes to ask about you."

 

"What do you say?" Harry smiled against his cheek.

 

Louis blushed, biting his lip.

 

"I do not wish to repeat my words."

 

Harry chuckled, squeezing him tightly.

 

"I would tell her how all of my dreams had come true," Harry told him. "That my life before you was worthless. And now, with love, it means everything to be alive."

 

Louis turned in his arms, small hands grasping onto Harry's forearms.

 

"Your life was not worthless," he stated. "It meant a very great much to me."

 

Harry stepped away to gaze upon him, his eyes traveling slowly over his form.

 

"I very much like seeing you like this, Louis."

 

Louis smiled.

 

"You do not miss my beggar's clothes?" He teased.

 

Harry swept in, kissing him on the mouth proudly.

 

"I would take you in a sack if I had to."

 

Louis giggled against his lips, peeling himself away as the yard bell rung out, the signal that dinner was served.

 

"We must rush," Louis pulled Harry towards the loft ladder, climbing down it quickly.

 

When they broke into the yard, Antoine threw up a meaty hand in greeting.

 

"Il y a mes garçons!" He called, ruffling Louis' shorter hair and patting Harry on the back.

 

They walked to the house together.

 

//

 

Madeleine and Antoine went away in the winter. Every year they visited family in the Alps and they kindly let Louis and Harry stay behind at the house to watch over the farm in their absence.

 

It was then, under warmed covers and smooth sheets that they first made love.

 

Harry was on his side, Louis' arms bound tight around him as he leaned over to surge into him, his heat clutched tightly inside Harry's body. It was fiercely protective, the embrace. It made Harry feel like the Princess Louis referred to him as, but it was also so very loving. The way Louis' knee nudged in behind Harry's and the way his lips trailed over his neck and shoulder while his hips bucked, thrusting into him with hot panted breaths on the back of his neck; his sweaty forehead resting on Harry's shoulder-blade.

 

Harry reached out to grasp his forearm when the pleasure got too much, when Louis went deep enough to touch something sensitive inside.

 

"Oh," the word fell from Harry's lips, followed by more, louder, deeper and breathier versions.

 

"Harry...Princess..." Louis whispered, brushing his palm over Harry's chest, down his belly and curving around his arousal.

 

"I love you, Louis," Harry murmured, shaky hands clutching his arms for anchorage to stop him being shunted off the bed.

 

"I love you, sweet rose," Louis whispered, sucking a loving bite into his neck, sinking deep. "So pretty!"

 

It was an exquisite feeling; Louis' hot release streaming inside him. Harry had never been with a man that way before, had never felt the hot splash of semen on his skin, let alone in intimate places.

 

Louis had been the gentlest of all; filling him tight full but never punishing him as Harry had heard some sodomites tell of their experiences.

 

His breath was laboured as he tried to open his eyes, heavy with relaxed satedness now he had released over himself and the bed beneath him.

 

Louis was careful to move from within him, wrapping him up tight, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. It was sweaty and once burning hot, but the sweat cooled there now and he shivered.

 

"My darling Prince, are you alright?" Louis pulled up the covers to drape over their bodies, naked and pale in the moonlight.

 

Harry hummed, pressing himself to shape against Louis. He kissed Louis' hand that rested on his chest, his arm across his collarbones.

 

"Was it all you expected?" Harry asked, hoping he was enough to satisfy Louis' desires, that he wouldn't search elsewhere for love.

 

Louis pressed a tender kiss to his naked shoulder.

 

"Much more," he promised.

 

Harry's lips brushed the back of his hand.

 

"I am yours now, Louis."

 

Louis felt tears scratch at his eyes.

 

"And I am yours," he replied, settling Harry to sleep while he stayed awake to watch him slumber.

 

//

 

Two weeks after the Devereux's returned home, Madeleine called Harry into her chambers.

 

Harry had feared- as he had climbed the stairs with a stoop due to the low ceiling- that she had found some evidence of his and Louis' intimacy in their absence. Once he stepped inside the room, however, his fears were allayed.

 

Madeleine was looking through her jewellery box. He paused in the doorway, face creasing.

 

"Madame, I should not wish to come any further inside," he said.

 

Madeleine patted the space beside her on the bed.

 

"Sit down, mon chéri."

 

Harry's shoulders rounded as he moved into the room, an unconscious smile curving his lips as he remembered Louis taking him on that very bed. Once, tenderly from behind and again later, laying over him and kissing him deeply.

 

He sat beside the woman he had come to regard as a mother-figure.

 

"See this ring?" She picked up an antique gold band. It had a small round diamond set into a delicate claw and down each side, smaller gems decorated the band tapering into the ring itself. The smaller gems were probably not diamonds and the stone was almost yellowed with age but Harry could not fault the beauty of it.

 

"I see it," he confirmed of her question.

 

"My grand-mother was married with this. You can see from the colour it is very old." Madelaine held the jewellery out for Harry to take.

 

He pinched it between gentle fingers, tucking back his long hair and narrowing his eyes to appreciate the fine work on each side of the stone.

 

"It is beautiful."

 

Madelaine smiled.

 

"I am pleased you think so. I want you to have it."

 

Harry dashed his gaze to hers.

 

"I cannot take this," he denied quickly with a swallow.

 

"You are saving for a ring are you not?" She enquired.

 

Harry frowned.

 

"Louis has been speaking of my plan, I see."

 

Madelaine squeezed his forearm.

 

"He spoke of his worry only. That you are over-working yourself to pay for a token. As you can see, I have a great many jewels," she mused. "I should not miss one."

 

"This is a very special ring," Harry stated slowly, picturing the diamond on Louis' finger and gulping down the lump in his throat.

 

"Then you should know I would not wish to give it away to any old clown."

 

Harry turned to regard the older woman, his tongue venturing out to lick at his lips.

 

"What could I do to repay you?" He asked.

 

Madelaine smiled, tears in her eyes.

 

"You could propose to Louis with it!" She encouraged brightly. "I could die happy knowing you had," she  added.

 

Harry reached forward to hug the woman, holding her in his warm embrace.

 

"Ma mère est morte quand j'étais jeune. Elle aurait voulu savoir que je vous avais trouvée ( _My mother died when I was young. She would have wanted to know I had found you_ )."

 

Madeline sniffled, wiping her eyes over his shoulder.

 

"I need to get dinner ready," she stood, smiling brightly and giving Harry one last, hard hug. "Vive ta vie beau garçon. (Live your life)".

 

Harry bowed his head and turned to leave the room, slipping the ring into his trouser pocket.

 

//

 

Harry rode into Paris with Louis one summer day, a year after they had settled in France. News from England told them that the King had vacated the throne in favour of his cousin, Edward.

 

Harry spoke of his desire to visit with Robin one day; telling Louis they could pass through Doncaster to search for his father also.

 

They had decided then, to see if Paris was worth uprooting for. To see if city life was preferable to rural life.

 

Harry had heard correctly about inclusion. Mollies dandied around the place in pastel colours with feathers in their hats and soft accents falling from their rouged lips. It felt like a breath of fresh air being among other sodomites.

 

Harry and Louis stayed close to one another at first, only splitting up when Harry spotted a fruit stall and Louis wished to peruse the haberdashery; something Harry grew bored of quickly in Louis' memory.

 

Louis watched his beau from afar, though, fingering through baubles and buckles and sequins whilst capturing his lover in the distance, his mind's eyes taking photographs for memory's sake.

 

Harry cut a dashing figure, tall and lean with long, shiny dark locks. He wore his smartest clothes, a white and gold suit with a skirted jacket and ruffled neck piece. Louis had no favour for the showy costume, choosing a rather more subdued grey ensemble with flat shoes.

 

Harry, it seemed, had quite caught the attention of the market-goers. A few women approached him at first with little response and so then came the men. Harry engaged with the male sex better, Louis noted. He held their gaze and watched their lips as they spoke. He had never felt the need to be jealous before since Harry's attention had always been solely trained upon him but now...now he felt a little quirk of something spike in his chest, wanting to yell as loudly as possible, _He is mine! Unhand him!_

Of course Louis could do no such thing. Nor could he storm over there like a green-eyed lover and stake his claim as much as his very being seemed to wish for him to do so.

 

"He is an independent man," he murmured to himself as he picked out some gaudy buttons to purchase. "I am not his keeper."

 

He picked up a few more bits and bobs for his new dress-making venture and distracted himself with befriending the stall-owner. He haggled himself a very handsome price on his bounty, turning towards the fruit stall to reconvene with his man.

 

He stuttered to a halt as he witnessed Harry shake hands with another man- another tall and well-dressed man- their hands lingering for moments beyond what was socially acceptable.

 

He marched forth anyway, quite certain he should not have put himself upon the line with the feelings brewing in his chest that smarted to touch.

 

"Et qui est-ce, ma petite fleur? (And who is this, my little flower?)" He asked as he reached Harry's side, interupting the conversation that had gone on before his arrival.

 

Harry turned to him with a brow arched curiously, a small smile playing at his lips.

 

"There you are," he murmured, placing a hand against the small of Louis' back to bring him forward slightly. "I was just looking for you to introduce you. This is Albert," Harry explained, pronouncing his name without the 't'. "Can you believe he thinks I am the spit of the missing Prince of England!"

 

Louis' jealousy quickly faded. He swallowed tightly, forcing a humoured laugh.

 

"The Prince of England? Non, monsieur vous devez vous tromper...( _No sir you must be mistaken_ )"

 

Albert turned to shake Louis' hand, also holding it for several moments too long.

 

"You are such a delightlful little thing! How lovely to meet you..."

 

"And you, kind sir. However we must be away, we need to return home before dark."

 

Harry edged closer to Louis, forcing a polite smile.

 

"Very nice to meet you," he bowed.

 

"Au revoir!" Albert waved as the pair turned to retreat to their horses, their purchases safely stored in the cargo bags rested upon the horses flanks.

 

Louis waited until they had slowed to a canter on the long road home before he glanced across to Harry.

 

"We should avoid Paris," he said.

 

Harry turned and smiled sadly.

 

"Are you very disappointed?"

 

Louis frowned.

 

"Not at all...are you?"

 

Harry shook his head.

 

"I like Madelaine and Antoine. I wish to stay there as long as they will have us."

 

Louis smiled.

 

"I wish the same."

 

"I thought he would not drop the topic," Harry lamented. "He would not let go of my hand!"

 

"I noticed," Louis muttered, ducking his face away when Harry turned his horse toward him.

 

"Did you doubt me?" Harry asked honestly, a worried frown etched on his face.

 

Louis swallowed.

 

"I had wondered if you had the choice...whether you might select a different partner," he admitted quietly.

 

"Louis, I had a choice!" Harry huffed angrily, spinning his horse to face him fully. "I chose you, if you recall?"

 

Louis ducked his head, a warm feeling spreading over his chest.

 

"I recall."

 

"One fancy man in the market will not dim my love for you," he added emphatically. "In fact, the way you marched across the square to pronounce me your flower only served to heat my loins, not cool them," he regarded stoicly, maneouvering his horse to trot forwards, more briskly than before.

 

Louis whipped the reins to his own steed to catch him up, his heart thudding frightfully in his chest.

 

"Harry!" He called urgently. "I am sorry! I did not mean to question you...I did not know how to feel when I saw the men upon you." He sighed as Harry turned his face resolutely toward the view. "I merely felt a burning in my chest and the urgent desire to inform the world that you are mine," he added.

 

Harry stopped his horse. Louis waited patiently beside him until he turned.

 

"May we decant?"

 

Louis nodded, sliding his leg over the body of his horse to jump to the ground. Before he had found sure footing, Harry rounded the animal and grasped him close, pressing soft lips against his insistently until Louis found semblance to kiss him back.

 

"For all the world, I am yours," Harry stated against his cheek, softly, with a kiss.

 

Louis clutched him close.

 

"I could not help the way I felt. I shall not let it happen again."

 

Harry chuckled, pulling away.

 

"I should like you to feel that way again."

 

Louis blinked at him.

 

"You should?"

 

Harry smiled, a coquettish flirt of a grin.

 

"I rather like being your possession if I must admit it."

 

Louis grasped a handful of Harry's jacket and tugged him close again, sliding his other hand onto his behind.

 

"Little Prince, you are mine forever," he whispered.

 

Harry leaned down to kiss him once more, short and sweet.

 

"You are the little one," he murmured. "Petite souris." He added to make Louis scoff.

 

"Fetch back onto your horse, nobleman," Louis instructed. "We will be late home for dinner."

 

 

//

 

"How do you count the stars?"

 

Louis tilted his head towards Harry's voice. They had been laid out in the field for over an hour; the clear sky above them and swirling their world. A blanket was tucked beneath them and Louis had insisted Harry fold his jacket to cushion his back.

 

They had held hands some time ago, pleased to be in each other's company and free of any judgement. Madelaine and Antoine were back at the house, getting ready for bed by now.

 

"What do you mean?" Louis asked.

 

"From left to right?" Hary posed. "As then you get confused with those above and beneath..."

 

Louis smiled, lifting their hands to kiss the back of Harry's.

 

"Did you finish the wine?" He enquired lightly.

 

Harry pouted, his lips rouged with the stain of the grapes.

 

"I had half a bottle the same as you."

 

"You sound intoxicated," Louis remarked fondly.

 

Harry readjusted their fingers.

 

"I am overwhelmed by the exapnse of the universe," he huffed. "As should you be, staring at the stars."

 

"The stars have no match for you," Louis spoke quietly, like he was afraid of the words leaving his tongue and racing onto his lips.

 

Harry turned his face to grin at him.

 

"Are you attempting to woo me? To persuade me to drop my breeches?"

 

Louis smirked.

 

"You do not need much persuasion usually."

 

Harry laughed, rolling over toward him. Louis let go of his hand so Harry could tuck under his arm as he liked to, small and protected. He kissed Harry's forehead.

 

"Louis?"

 

"Hm?"

 

"Do you still wish to go home to England for a visit?"

 

Louis cleared his throat.

 

"Of course."

 

"I want to-" Harry sat up a bit and Louis did, too, sitting cross-legged when Harry got upright. "I wish to present ourselves to my father," he said.

 

Louis lifted his chin, his heart beating hard but his resolve holding.

 

"As you wish."

 

"He will not hurt us," he promised.

 

Louis smiled wryly.

 

"He may send me away and entrap you to fulfil your heir."

 

"He has Edward, now," Harry reminded. "I feel he abdicated to encourage my return."

 

Louis nodded, smiling slightly.

 

"We shall present ourselves, then," he agreed softly.

 

"Louis?"

 

Louis looked at his partner, his lover and friend. He tucked his hair behind his ear.

 

"Yes, my rose?"

 

"I have a question to ask."

 

Louis nodded.

 

"Alright, go ahead."

 

Harry smiled bemusedly.

 

"We must stand...my knees are sore," he explained.

 

Louis stood with him, holding his hands. Harry's eyes were alight with the reflection of the stars and he felt breathless with the beauty of it.

 

"Louis." Harry swallowed, looking to the ground. "I have loved you for some time now, perhaps not long enough by traditional standards but I believe we both agree our courtship has been anything but traditional..."

 

Louis stepped closer and pressed a gentle hand to Harry's chest.

 

"Is everything alright, Harry?"

 

Harry nodded, smiling tightly.

 

"Everything should be alright in just two more moments," he promised.

 

Louis nodded and stepped back, taking Harry's hand again. It was shaking.

 

"I have wanted to ask you for some months, fearing it to be too soon and as you know I have worked ridiculously hard to earn the coins to buy you a ring that is worthy of your beauty..."

 

Louis felt something hit him brick-like in the chest.

 

"Harry..."

 

Harry shook his head, letting go of Louis' hand to kneel, his hand going into his trouser pocket.

 

"Wait, I am not finished," he begged, taking a fortifying breath.

 

Louis looked down at him, hoping this was not the greatest prank to be played upon him, hoping that this was exactly what it seemed to be.

 

"Louis Tomlinson of France, I wish to make you mine forever," Harry expressed, untucking the tiny box from his pcoket. "And one day I shall marry you when we are permitted but for now, will you take this ring as a token of my promise?"

 

Harry opened the box and smiled hopefully up at him, his lower lip gnawed between his teeth. The Prince in him was nearly gone, but the man Louis loved was right there all the same.

 

Louis' vision blurred over on the ring as tears filled his eyes. His knees weakened and he stumbled and fell; throwing his arms around Harry's shoulders for the other man to catch him.

 

" _Oui_!" Louis cried, burying his face in Harry's neck. "Yes, Harry! I want to be yours. Always."

 

Harry hugged him tightly until their lips met; pressing together slowly, every emotion expressed in those touches.

 

It was later that Louis sat and gazed at the ring; curled up in an armchair whilst Madeleine set the finishing touches to a pair of slippers that Louis had made especially for Harry to wear to an upcoming Summer Dance in the village.

 

"You have not stopped gazing at that diamond," Madeleine commented of Louis' dream-like state.

 

Louis smiled shyly.

 

"I know you gave it to him," he said softly.

 

Madeleine rolled her eyes.

 

"He should have kept quiet and stolen all the glory!"

 

Louis shook his head.

 

"He is too modest for that."

 

The farmer's wife agreed.

 

"You have found a lovely young man, you should feel very lucky indeed."

 

"I feel very lucky," he assured.

 

"Harry should feel lucky, too," the lady added more quietly. "You are not such a bad catch yourself."

 

Louis giggled, his cheek ruddied from the sun streaming in the window and the flush of excitement from being engaged.

 

"If only he came to rest," Louis sighed wistfully.

 

As if his thoughts had been heard, the back door swung open and the two farm-men sauntered in.

 

Louis jumped up, curbing his intended greeting in the company of Antoine.

 

"You have finished early," he observed. "Is something the matter?"

 

Antoine shook his head with a glance at his wife.

 

"We have no need to work so hard. Your fancy creations and our produce has made more than enough to shorten our days in the fields."

 

Louis swallowed, his eyes trailing down Harry's sweatied form. His shirt was open at the neck, his chest glistening. His thighs and manhood pressed against his breeches temptingly.

 

"I should like to help Harry dress for dinner," he said, his voice a little high-pitched if anyone would notice.

 

Antoine chuckled, smiling at the taller of the young men and patting his shoulder.

 

"Take your time, young stud," he teased. "Dinner will not be for a while."

 

Harry grinned and ducked his head but bravely put his hand forth for Louis to take. Louis froze, his heart jumping in his throat as he stared at Antoine and then Harry, the fear washing out his skin.

 

"I-I-"

 

Antoine moved across the room and wrapped Louis in an unexpectedly hard hug.

 

"He told me he proposed, and your answer was yes. Go to him," he encouraged.

 

Louis gaped at Madeleine and she laughed, placing her hand on her chest.

 

"Be off with you both," she waved them away.

 

Louis took Harry's hand and gulped down his fear, turning back to glance at Antoine to make sure the austere farmer had not been joking.

 

Louis pushed into Harry's side with a grin as they escaped the house.

 

"He is really, truly happy for us?" He asked.

 

Harry gave a slow nod, a sheepish smile on his face.

 

"He insisted to ask me why I was smiling," Harry shared. "He noticed I had not met a female since moving in, but had spent many a waking hour with _you_..."

 

Louis raced up to the loft and fell laughing onto their thin mattresses, shoved together in the dust of the hay. Their furniture was sparse and there were no frivolties but none of it mattered as Harry crawled over him and trapped his giggling body in strong arms.

 

"He is not disgusted, Harry," Louis awed, smiling into his kiss.

 

"We have found our home," Harry replied just as softly, shuffling to straddle Louis' hips. "Now may I have you at least once before dinner?" He asked.

 

Louis grinned and rushed to pull his clothes off.

 ~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi All  
> The sequel that nobody asked for :)
> 
> It's always a tough decision to go back to something; particularly when I don't want to spoil what I have already written. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. So my only request is that you go easy on me if this doesn't meet expectations. I wanted to finish their story so I hope I did it justice.
> 
> Thanks as always to Sara, Sam and hazzalnut for the French translation.
> 
> Ang

_Portsmouth, England_

Their horses were skittish as they climbed into the saddles at the dock; sharp whinnies accompanied by the clip-clop of hooves.

 

"Gently does it," Harry stroked the neck of his steed with a "Shh-shh," to soothe the animal.

 

Their journey across the channel had not been much smoother; the sea a raged devil of fierce waves which had made Louis quite bilious. 

 

Harry glanced over to check on his welfare.

 

He was pale but equally as beautiful as the day they had met. Now, Harry could sleep content in the knowledge that Louis was of the proper weight for his frame and that he was nourished and well-loved. 

 

Louis had loved him well only the evening prior; urgent sharp thrusts of his hips embedding him into Harry's body with stricken gasps of air. The way they had made love mirrored their fear at making this journey.

 

A great many things could happen. They might be captured; kept captive or marched to their deaths. They also might never make it back to France despite their promises to the Devereux’s. 

 

Madeleine had wept when Louis had told her of their plan and Harry had embraced her for long moments at dawn when the maternal woman had risen just to see them off safely. 

 

Antoine was far more jovial; assuming them to be taking some sort of honeymoon.

 

For Harry, he had to admit that part of his desire to return home was to gain approval. He didn't require it, and should they not obtain it he would return to France with no bitter emotions on the topic.

 

But to settle at the farm with Louis for good; he ached for his family to know the truth.

 

Amelia would be a young woman nearly, it had been three whole years since they had left. The uprising had come and gone and Harry had obtained an address for the retired King from a man at the dock; a farthing being his price for the information. 

 

Louis set his horse into a spritely canter, forcing Harry to shuck his reins to catch up.

 

//

 

"It should not take all day to get there, should it?" Louis asked as the sun broke over the horizon; lighting the sways of the south downs with golden glimmering light.

 

"We will have to stop at an Inn halfway," Harry judged. "It is farther north than I anticipated. "

 

Louis looked over at him.

 

He was stronger physically than when they had left England, much of his stiff posture now softened among the relaxed air of Beaumont-du-Gâtinais. He let his facial hair grow and stubbornly refused to shear his locks.

 

Fashions might be changing but Harry refused to bend to the persuasion of the majority.

 

"I like my hair like this," he had huffily announced to Louis when Louis had read from the newspaper about the upcoming fashions in Paris. "Unless you wish me to cut it?"

 

Louis had promised Harry he loved him as he was; with his lion's mane.  Harry had laughed and they had kissed hotly afterwards.

 

Louis felt a yearning ache in his belly to kiss him again now.

 

Harry was unconsciously regal upon a horse; back straightening to shape himself into the horse's movements so naturally that he couldn't have lost the royalty in his blood no matter where they had fled to.

 

Louis felt another flutter in his gut. One that spoke of uncertainty. He feared that Harry would get drawn back into Royal life. He feared that once Harry knew the situation of England and the poverty that existed post-industrialisation then he would not be coaxed back across the water to a place Louis now considered home.

 

If Harry decided to take any small role in the Royal household; if he wished to help run the country in any way, then it would be impossible for them to leave again.

 

"What worries you?" Harry asked across the gap between their horses.

 

Louis slipped his gaze away. He had never been one to hide his feelings well.

 

"What if you are to be recognised at the Inn?" Louis asked back, covering for his real concerns.

 

Harry smiled at him.

 

"You can secure a room and I shall sneak into your bed after dark..."

 

Louis could not help smiling back as a warmth flushed over his skin.

 

"It would not be the first occurrence," he mused.

 

"I am becoming master at it," Harry boasted with a smirk. "I must say I have always enjoyed slipping into your bed chambers, little mouse..."

 

Harry didn't use the nickname very often. He seemed to save it for when they were cuddled under the bed covers or wrapped together; breathless with desire. 

 

Louis so loved hearing the fond term; a wistful memory of the very day Harry had demanded he stay at the Palace.

 

"We no longer need to sneak about," he reminded Harry gently.

 

Antoine had cleared out the annex to the farm cottage to allow them the freedom of their own living space, a brand-new mattress placed upon a large bed frame resting in the lone bedroom once the accommodation was decorated.

 

They shared the room and their freedom with passionate abandon; never tiring of being together. Should one of them need to ride out of town overnight or spend the night at a neighbouring farm who required help then they missed each other greatly.

 

"Then allow me the excitement to do so once more," Harry teased in a deep voice.  "I so love persuading you to unbutton your breeches..."

 

Louis' breath caught at the suggestion; throat catching back a groan at Harry's playfulness sometimes within their ardour.

 

He liked to tease Louis, liked to coax him into making love when he was often too tired or mad to try. Harry had become something of an expert at such persuasion and Louis couldn't find it in himself to be ashamed of his dotage. 

 

Harry was still spoiled but not by wealth. By _love_.

 

"Let us hope we can pass without issue," Louis merely muttered towards the sky. "Let us pray that God is on our side."

 

//

 

They ate quietly behind the Inn in an alleyway, loud song and merry drinking taking place until well after the sun set.

 

Louis entered by the front door to secure a room, paying the amount required for the night.  He bought himself a beer and hid himself in a corner until it seemed less conspicuous to climb the stairs to his bed. 

 

Harry took what felt like forever to arrive. Louis became twitchy, charging for the door to fetch him up the stairs himself only turning away at the last second; remembering that he could expose them both.

 

As it turned out, after the third aborted attempt at rescuing Harry, a soft knock sounded against the wooden door.

 

He opened it to usher his lover in.

 

"Do these people never rest?" Harry grimaced with a shiver; a thin blanket thrown over his shoulders.

 

Louis guided him into the room and went about warming him up; hands brusquely rubbing up and down his arms.

 

"Could you not have slipped by them in their drunken haze?" Louis asked, pressing kisses to his brow.

 

"I fear I am too recognisable," Harry swallowed. "Perhaps you were right. Cutting my hair might have helped."

 

Louis stroked his fingers through the soft curls decorating his shoulders, hand sliding onto his jaw to bring his face upwards where he sat on the bed edge while Louis attended him.

 

"I would have been sad to see your beautiful curls go," he admitted quietly.

 

Harry's lips curved slowly into a grin; his arms unfolding so that he could slide them around Louis' waist to draw him in.

 

"Such a charming young French man," Harry's brow arched to signal his teasing. "And what may you require of me in your chambers, Sir?"

 

Louis rolled his eyes but leaned down to kiss him; melding their mouths together in a way which although was familiar; also brought a little flutter of something new. A small victory had been secured in reconvening together in the same room just for one night. No matter how many other troubles they had to face, this was one which was complete.

 

"Hmm," Harry's hands splayed over him; lower back and butt to drag him closer as he leaned back; his intention being to topple Louis onto the bed atop his body.

 

Louis fell gently; climbing over him to seal their lips. He might never kiss Harry enough to wane his appetite to do so.

 

Harry's hands always felt so wonderful on him; big and accomplished; skin rough with work but tender with love.

 

Louis would want to make love to him if they had the means to do so.

 

"Only last night," he whispered, tearing his mouth away from sucking marks against Harry's throat.

 

Harry blinked up at him, thumb idly drawing a line beside the ridge forming in the front of his breeches.

 

"Harry," he whispered; capturing his wrist.

 

"Yes, my Love?"

 

"We do not have oil," Louis reminded him with a consolatory kiss. 

 

"I can still kiss you," Harry murmured, swallowing to illustrate his offer.

 

 _Only last night._ Louis had taken him quite roughly; his desire to possess the Prince sated only to now resurface as though it had never happened; as though he had been starved of him for years.

 

He fumbled with the opening of Harry's work trousers and tried to get his shaky hand to obey him.

 

"What is the rush?" Harry asked.

 

Louis leaned back, nudging between his thighs to make room for himself to fit. He unfastened his trousers and tucked them down; moving around the riddance of his clothes. Harry's undergarments were pristine; pressed and clean and Louis couldn't help his smile as he too drew down those shorts to clasp Harry firmly in his hand.

 

"L-Louis," Harry gulped, eyes widening in surprise before fluttering shut; a throaty moan drawn out though his rose petal lips.

 

"If this should be our last moment together then it shall be in love," Louis murmured. 

 

"Hush," Harry begged; breathy from the touch Louis afforded him. "Do not think such things."

 

Louis stroked him; leaning over and settling against him for a kiss; earning Harry's arms wrapped tightly around his middle as he did so.

 

He slipped a knee between Harry's thighs to gain leverage against his hip; small hand shifting quickly over his hard heat.

 

"Are you to insult me by remaining clothed?" Harry's fingers plucked at his shirt as Louis broke off their kiss to press his lips against the flush of Harry's chest instead. 

 

Louis grinded against him breathlessly, Harry's long fingers slipping under his top easily to roam his warm skin.

 

"You would look infinitely better naked, my Love," Harry breathed into his ear.

 

Harry's hair was fanned out underneath his head; messy and unsettled while Louis trailed his shirt over his belly; exposing his nipples to the cold air of the room.

 

"Let us not be distracted by the mere matter of clothes," Louis begged, crying out as he tightened his thighs around Harry’s to gain a strong thrust against his warm body.

 

Harry's big hands spanned his waist, creating a whirlpool of arousal to spin around Louis' gut.

 

" _Merde_ , Harry," he gasped.

 

"Kiss me," Harry demanded. "Or we'll be heard..."

 

Louis' groan was expelled against Harry's tongue, breathy and weak as it fell again; over and over with each circle of his hips.

 

Harry choked when Louis tightened his hand to stroke him firmly; now knowing exactly what Harry liked him to do.

 

"Mon petit Souris...touchez moi, me reveille (touch me, make me hot)."

 

Louis dropped his forehead to Harry's shoulder as he came against his undergarments; a hot sticky mess which he had to bite into Harry's skin to temper his ardour for.

 

Harry shuddered a moment later when Louis lazily licked over his nipple, flicking the hard bud with his tongue.

 

They blinked star-riddled eyes at each other as they caught their breath.

 

"Never gets old," Harry's lips pulled into a gratified smirk.

 

Louis kissed him gently on the lips, fingers getting lost in his bountiful hair.

 

"The next time I make love to you, it will be with your father's permission," he murmured.

 

Harry pouted.

 

"You are to make me wait that long?"

 

"We are to see him tomorrow," Louis chided as he fit himself against Harry's side. Harry leaned over to kiss into his hair.

 

"That is infinitely too long."

 

//

 

They set off two hours after sunrise.

 

The inhabitants of the Inn would no doubt be sleeping off their mead until well into the day, but they had to travel unseen, still.

 

The roads were rocky and uneven a lot of the time and with such little sleep after a fraught journey on the boat, Louis had to take pause mid-morning.

 

Harry hopped down from his horse to tend to him.

 

"Do you feel bilious?" He asked with concern as Louis leaned on his horse.

 

Louis shook his head, reaching his arms to fit around Harry's shoulders, hoping the bigger man would help lift him up. Harry did; work-strong arms holding him in place against him.

 

"I shall not lose you," Harry promised.

 

"I do not wish to be lost."

 

Harry brushed his lips over his ear.

 

"Ride with me on my horse for a while," he suggested. "Let me hold you."

 

Louis nodded and went about tying their animals together, climbing into the saddle of Harry’s horse; leaning back once Harry was safely seated behind him. 

 

Harry's arm slipped around his waist; guiding his horse one handed by the reins.

 

"Tell me what's the matter," Harry begged softly in his ear. "Do you think I will grow a passion to reclaim my Crown?"

 

Louis swallowed.

 

"Perhaps," he admitted quietly.

 

"You mean more to me than anything else," Harry reminded him. "I only wish to see my father- and yours if possible."

 

Louis nodded, hand curling over the arm which secured around his middle. He let his fingers clasp through Harry's. 

 

"I love you," he said it while he still could. 

 

"I love you, also," Harry murmured back.

 

//

 

About ten miles from Cheshire, they decanted; enjoying a quick stolen moment pressed against a tree while they kissed passionately; the moments feeling measured even though they were not.

 

"Are you lost?" Came a soft, well-spoken voice from behind Harry who had Louis pinned to the tree.

 

He moved away from him quickly, ducking his face and replacing his hat to help shield his features.

 

"We were taking rest," Harry replied to the question first, venturing his chin up far enough to glimpse the rider who had come upon them.

 

The stranger lifted a curious brow; a smart feathered hat; looking to be of French style, upon his head. His hair was dark and long; his uniform a royal blue. He looked much like a Musketeer if Harry had to pick a comparison.

 

"Rest, you say?" He mused, smirking. "Is that what it is called nowadays?"

 

Harry glanced behind him towards Louis who had crept out of the shadow of the tree to untether their horses.

 

"What can I assist you with?" Harry asked the man.

 

The stranger held out his hand, circling his horse slightly to shake with Harry.

 

"Alexander L'Aclair, nice to meet your acquaintance… "

 

Louis huddled close to his horse when Alexander looked his way. 

 

"Pretty boy you have there," he said to Harry when Louis glanced away.

 

Harry's eyes narrowed; chin lifting another notch.

 

"Indeed," Harry agreed with a clench of his teeth.

 

"How much?" Alexander enquired.

 

Harry smiled but it wasn't a happy one.

 

"I believe you are mistaken. We are travelling companions, he is not my slave."

 

Alexander looked again at Louis who chose to stay guarding his horse. He could quite easily defend himself, but Harry's ingrained authoritativeness meant the rider assumed him to be in charge. 

 

"Companions?" Alexander queried. "Had I not just seen you both kissing against this very tree?"

 

Louis' heart squeezed in his chest. _Merde_. They were done for before they had even reached Harry's father's house!

 

He stepped foward, reigns clutched in his hand.

 

"Sir, we are to be on our way. I implore you to allow us free passage," he begged.

 

Harry's gaze snapped to him, his brows furrowing as if he wanted to argue; perhaps even to fight. Louis could imagine that might be Harry's preferred method of resolving the matter but for Louis; their future was more important.

 

"You misunderstand me, sweet cherub,” Alexander swung his horse around to address Louis. "I wish not to call the guards and have you apprehended...I wish to kiss you myself."

 

Harry stalked towards his horse and threw the leather flap back which covered his belongings.  He withdrew a fine sword; cast from steel. 

 

"Come down here so that we may settle this matter like men," Harry challenged with a deep, booming voice.

 

Louis only knew of it when he likened Harry to a lion- brave and angry; sometimes a little intimidating. It wasn't often he saw him that way since Harry melted in his arms the moment Louis sank into his clutching body.

 

"There is no need for a sword," Louis stepped forth to come between the men.

 

Alexander stepped out of his saddle, plucking off his fine moleskin gloves and removing his hat. Louis' heart thrashed in his chest for long painful seconds while he wondered if Alexander would reach for his musket at his side; nestled in a hilt.

 

"Please," he began, fidgeting to step forth once more; to block Harry from any planned attack. 

 

Alexander merely bowed deeply with his hat held aloft.

 

"Let me introduce myself properly. I am Alexander of France and I know now by your accent that you are of France, too..."

 

Louis swallowed, pressing his elbow into Harry's stomach as he felt him surge against his shoulder where he divided the men by mere feet.

 

"It is of no consequence from where I originate," Louis muttered. "You have already witnessed that I am involved with this man. Do not ask me to come with you," he warned.

 

Alexander hesitated, flicking a look at Harry. His eyes went over him, assessing.

 

"I can dress you in the finest silk and feed you the richest food. You will never go cold in my arms, sweet cherub."

 

Harry jostled against Louis' shoulder at the endearment.

 

"You have no right-"

 

"Please, tell me your name," Alexander settled his hat back upon his head, cutting over Harry's indignation.

 

Louis was about to tell the man that he could take his horse for a long trot for he would never find out his name, but Harry had already brushed by him to grasp the stranger by his jacket front. 

 

"You do not seem to hear me," he growled. "Perhaps my hands will spell it out to you?"

 

Harry reached back to punch the man; landing a good thunk against his cheek. 

 

"He is not your cherub to call as such!" Harry yelled when Alexander was down on the ground. He drew his sword to pin him there, pointed blade to his throat. "And you are no match to win his affections..."

 

Alexander's hands came to rest beside his ears in mercy.

 

"Spare my life?" He begged of the angry man.

 

Harry looked over at Louis who arched an expectant brow. Harry rescinded his sword, settling it back in its sheath.

 

"Very well." He stepped back to allow the man to rise to his feet.

 

Alexander dusted himself off and took to bow; his hand moving lightning fast to bear his own arms; his sword drawn as he charged forth.

 

"No!" Louis stepped forward, too, determined to prevent the blade from entering Harry's body.

 

It had happened once and he could not bear for it to happen again. He shoved Harry off his feet onto the ground and the blade struck his arm; slicing it open through his meagre clothing.

 

"Just what in God's name...!" Harry scrabbled to his feet to implore just as Louis twisted away with a hiss, clutching his cut arm. "Louis!"

 

Harry fell to his knees to catch his fall; the distant sound of hooves troubling him.

 

"Ca fait mal, putain!" Louis whispered, pained, as Harry lifted him up.

 

Alexander mounted his horse and galloped away; kicking up dust as he went. Harry was just heading for his own horse when another two riders drew up.

 

"You! Stop there!"

 

Harry froze. _Oh bother_. The King’s men. 

 

"Me?" He turned with an innocent smile.

 

"We heard a commotion!" One of the uniformed men declared.

 

"What has occurred with this injured man?" The other waved his musket towards Louis; lain in Harry's arms.

 

Harry curled Louis a little closer to his chest and twisted away from the man's aim.

 

"Would you mind not waving that thing around," he huffed. "We have been victims of a roadside theft," Harry lied. "My travelling companion has been injured..."

 

"You were the one with the sword," the second officer accused. 

 

"We must take you to the King!" The first horseman stated.

 

Harry arched a brow.

 

"Edward?"

 

The rider nodded.

 

"I would much rather be brought before Robin if you could arrange it..." He murmured.

 

The second horseman decanted, striding over.

 

"We shall strap the patient to my horse and escort you to the Royal house," he said.

 

Harry let a smirk slip onto his lips.

 

Well, that was one way to find his father.

 

//

 

"Your Majesty, we have apprehended a bandit!"

 

"He had a sword, Your Majesty. We have an injured man..."

 

Harry let the two guards lead him into the Royal house with a lazy smile; his eyes rolling with mirth as he was roughly dragged before Robin who had been busy reading in the parlour of his new house.

 

Louis was carried in by the house staff under Harry's watchful eye.

 

"Careful!" He warned as they went to place him down abruptly on the floor. Harry pointed to the chaise with his hands chained behind his back. "Lay him there where it is soft..."

 

Robin’s head lifted at the sound of the familiar voice, his lips parting in shock.

 

"H-"

 

"He's bleeding," Harry cut over him quickly with dark eyes, lifting his brow pointedly.

 

Nobody had recognised him thus far. He was disguised enough for the King’s own men not to be suspicious. 

 

Robin nodded with a swallow as he stood up slowly.

 

"Fetch the medic!" He managed to instruct, then when his guards hesitated; "Immediately! Leave the prisoner with me."

 

"But your Majesty..." the second guard frowned as the first took leave.

 

"I am capable of controlling a bandit in chains," Robin told his guard. "Take your leave."

 

The guard bowed and turned to leave; handing the keys to the chains to Robin.

 

The second the door clasped shut, Robin hurried forth to unlock his son.

 

"Harold!" He hugged him tearfully. "You're alive...you’re-"

 

Harry put his father away from himself a bit.

 

"Louis is bleeding, Father," he reminded him with gentle green eyes inflected with concern.

 

Robin nodded and Harry turned toward the chaise to ensure the blood flow was stemmed whilst they waited for the medic.

 

Harry brushed Louis' fringe from his face, lips pressing together.

 

"Must you try and protect me so?" He accused in a soft voice; more worried than angry.

 

"I did not think he would strike me," Louis murmured dryly.

 

Harry reached for a throw and tucked it around him carefully.

 

"Are you warm enough?"

 

Louis nodded and the door struck open causing them all to turn.

 

"Your Majesty," the medic bowed.

 

"Even though I have vacated the throne they still insist on attending me as their King," Robin mused as the medic hurried across the room.

 

The man glanced at Harry and frowned, seemingly taking a second look.

 

"It is best you do not speak your thoughts aloud," Harry suggested lowly.

 

The man nodded and went about cutting away the rest of Louis' clothes to get to his wound. 

 

Harry paced up and down by the chaise while he worked; moving to fetch the things the medic asked for; not realising how it might appear to those who did not know him.

 

Once Louis had been stitched up and bandaged; Robin sent a maid to fetch some clothing.

 

Harry knelt by the chaise on which Louis reclined; advised to remain horizontal for another hour or so to ensure the bleeding had stopped.

 

He cupped Louis’ cheek, letting his thumb slide into the concave and Louis darted a look towards Robin who was still present in the room.

 

"Father, this is not precisely how I had planned to announce my presence," he glanced over his shoulder with a wry smile. "But here I am. And here lays the man I love..."

 

Louis stared at Harry fearfully, body twisting to deny the claim to Robin; panic pulsing through his veins. As if they had not had a close enough call on the road there! As if their attacker could not still bring more guards back to ensure their deaths.

 

He had rather hoped they would spend a few days accustoming themselves before revealing all to Harry's father. It was his wish to present themselves, but Louis had imagined a more relaxed and intimate setting.

 

Robin moved toward them, curling a fatherly hand around Louis' shoulder to ease him back into the chaise.

 

"Rest now, young Louis," he soothed.

 

Louis gulped, settling onto his back. Harry tucked the mis-placed throw back around him studiously while Robin's hand settled between his son's shoulders.

 

"Perhaps the next time you make announcement, you could tell me something of which I do not already know?"

 

Harry twisted to look at him, swallowing hard. He hadn't expected disapproval; but he hadn't expected _this_ either. He grinned; a breathy laugh spilling from his lips. He turned to hug his father around the waist, earning Robin's hand against his hair.

 

"You have still not cut this mop I see," he murmured. 

 

Harry smiled against his belly.

 

"I like it."

 

Robin stroked over his hair gently.

 

"I have missed you greatly, my child."

 

"And I, you."

 

"I have even missed Tomlinson!" Robin added jovially.  "None of the courtiers quite fit in your place," Robin told the injured man.

 

"Well, now we are outlaws!" Louis huffed. "What a grand way to enter the Royal house!"

 

Robin laughed, stepping away once Harry relinquished his hold.

 

"I shall arrange for the Princess suite to be made up for your stay," he decided. "For how long do I have you?"

 

Harry glanced at Louis.

 

"We have not discussed it," he admitted. "We wish to visit Doncaster to find Louis' father and we hoped to leave before being seen..."

 

Robin nodded; a sadness filling his eyes.

 

"If only I could travel to France with you." He commented wistfully. 

 

Harry nodded sadly.

 

"You understand why we had to leave, Father. "

 

Robin sucked in a breath. 

 

"I do. I am very happy to see you, though. "

 

Harry smiled, turning back to check Louis' welfare.

 

"Are you hungry, little mouse?"

 

Louis huffed but nodded his head. 

 

//

 

It was Harry who carried Louis up to their bed chambers once the staff were dismissed for the night. The house had only four rooms; nothing near the scale of the Palace but the Princess Room as Robin had called it was certainly beautiful; if feminine for two young men.

 

"I expect ballet," Robin had teased as he had bid them goodnight.

 

Harry tucked Louis under the covers with great care; finally letting the anxiety seep from his bones.

 

"Let us enjoy this blissful moment," he breathed. 

 

"We are both alive," Louis replied sleepily with a yawn. 

 

"Go to sleep, now," Harry chided gently.

 

"I cannot sleep without my favourite pillow," Louis claimed.

 

Harry dressed into his bed clothes and slipped under the covers. 

 

"Plump me as you wish;" he invited in a deep voice.

 

Louis only had the energy to reach for Harry's hand; his arm preventing him from turning. He twined their fingers together.

 

"I have missed holding your hand."

 

"It has only been a day!" Harry laughed.

 

Louis swallowed, thumb pad trailing over Harry's thumb knuckle.

 

"It is still true."

 

Harry hummed. Their freedom to walk together hand in hand was something of a granted pleasure in France.  Now they had to be careful not to get caught.

 

"Rest now," Harry begged. "Your wound needs to heal."

 

Louis let the darkness overcome him.

 

//

 

Breakfast was served to their room by the maid.

 

Her name was Paula and Harry had given her six pence for her loyalty. She had knocked on the door only to have it opened by a shirtless Harry; still in his long John's and not much else.  The sight had made her blush and deliver their hot plates in record time.

 

Louis complained from the bed that he wished to sit up to eat but Harry had insisted he stay warm.

 

They ate on the mattress; listening to the birds singing.

 

After breakfast Harry suggested that Louis bathe in the grand bath to clean his wound; evidently concerned he would develop an infection.

 

Louis had let him clean the stitched cut with alcohol. Harry wrapped him in a towel and shuffled him back to bed before Louis could protest. 

 

Harry sat in the seat beside the window reading the newspaper aloud until he grew bored of doing so.

 

Harry was dressed in borrowed clothes today; a crisp white shirt and long breeches; his cuffs unbuttoned and casually turned up on his forearms; his collar gaping open to reveal his chest.

 

Even so, Louis recognised more of the noble in him now that he was placed back in the environment he knew so well.

 

"Am I permitted a kiss?" He asked when Harry laid the newspaper gently on the table top.

 

Harry looked over.

 

"You are hurt."

 

"My mouth was not in the line of fire," Louis assured. 

 

"I might hurt you," Harry stood up to walk closer to the bed. 

 

Louis thumped his head into the pillow.

 

"Then at the very least lay beside me," he asked. "So that I may pretend."

 

Harry smiled his beautiful dimpled smiled and climbed up on top of the bed covers; curling beside Louis. 

 

Louis clasped his hand.

 

"You shall wrinkle your nice shirt..."

 

"You are the one that lured me into your bed," Harry quipped.

 

"It is my bed now?" Louis enquired. "And yet last night we shared it."

 

"It is your bed now that you invited me into it fully clothed..."

 

Louis smiled at his teasing, turning a bit onto his good side. 

 

"What is the plan, now?"

 

Harry swallowed, nudging closer. 

 

"We shall spend a couple of days recuperating before we set off for Doncaster."

 

Louis nodded, letting out a relieved breath. He had feared Harry night not want them to travel after he had been injured; particularly as they did not know where Alexander had gone to. 

 

"Let us hope for better luck," Louis mused.

 

"That man was quite something!" Harry commented with a frown. "Incredibly improper. "

 

Louis smiled at him lovingly. 

 

"Somewhat like presenting oneself on one's bed in a half-dressed state?" He teased.

 

Harry huffed and rolled closer; his arm lying across Louis' waist. 

 

"He wished to steal you from me," he murmured with a sulky tilt to his lip.

 

"He would not have succeeded."

 

"I should have run him through when I had the chance," Harry lamented. 

 

"You cannot kill every man who wishes to purchase me," Louis argued.  "I am after all, born a slave."

 

"No," Harry curled closer; coaxing Louis into him gently. "You are a free man. But he did not wish to purchase you for work at any rate."

 

Louis swallowed.

 

"He did not."

 

"I could not bear to watch another man kiss you. I would rather claw out my own eyes."

 

Louis twisted to stroke Harry's hair soothingly.

 

"Mon petit petale... vous n'avez pas besoin de (you do not need to)."

 

Harry shifted; leaning over him slightly to kiss him sweetly.

 

"You are mine, now," he murmured softly.

 

//

 

"Tell me of your life in France "

 

Harry was buttoned into a thick outer jacket, escorted by his Father into the grounds of the house. 

 

He had been reluctant to leave Louis' side, but Louis wished to stretch his legs and fetch his own afternoon tea.

 

Robin had invited Harry for a walk where they would not be seen. 

 

"We live and work on a farm, harvesting corn," Harry shared. "Louis sews a great many things also. They know about us," Harry added quietly. "They know of our love. "

 

Robin nodded, clasping his hands behind his back. 

 

"I do not wish to pretend that I know how it works," he mused. "But are you promised to each other at all?"

 

Harry swallowed; his lips twitching into a soft smile.

 

"I asked Louis to marry me and he agreed. "

 

"Marriage?" Robin queried. "Not in this century perhaps. Do you have a ring?"

 

Harry nodded.

 

"Madeleine kindly gifted me her family heirloom. Louis wears it around his neck. "

 

"Oh," Robin glanced away, clearing his throat. "I had rather hoped to give you one of your mother's rings when the time came to propose. Of course, I had thought it to be some years off;" he cajoled. 

 

Harry grinned, twirling on the grass.

 

"I have not got a ring for myself," he bared his ring laden fingers; his wedding band finger the only one empty of decoration.

 

Robin beamed at him with a nod.

 

"Then we shall find you something. One from each side of the family..."

 

Harry watched his father for a moment.

 

"I am sorry that I cannot be here with you always. "

 

"It sounds as though you have people who have come to love you dearly, Harold. "

 

Harry nodded.

 

"Perhaps you can visit us?" He suggested. "After we have returned you could come by horse with an escort and meet our new family. "

 

"I would like that," Robin agreed.

 

Harry huffed a happy breath out of his lungs his nostrils flaring to draw in the scent of the new day.

 

"So, what of Edward?" Harry changed topic. "How is he managing the throne?"

 

//

 

When Harry returned to the house, he found Louis napping on the same chaise he had been rested upon when they arrived.

 

The remains of his afternoon snack were present on the low table in front of him and Harry stacked it all carefully onto one tray to take out to the kitchens.

 

When he came back he settled in a chair with a map; plotting the best route to Doncaster.

 

//

 

The next morning his father roused him from slumber before the sun had risen.

 

Harry had carefully unfurled Louis from his arms before rising to dress for riding as his Father had indicated. 

 

It wasn't a cold morning, but Harry squinted sleepily into the horizon; wishing he was still within the warmth of his bed.

 

Still within Louis' warmth he supposed.

 

But the time with his father was sacred and not much of it would be spent alone with him. So, he spurred off his horse to a steady run to catch his Father up.

 

//

 

"How is your arm?"

 

Louis looked up from his lap to cast his eyes over his lover.  Despite having the choice to wear formal clothes; Harry had selected a loose pink tunic to wear over some long trousers with work boots tied on his feet.

 

Louis almost missed the socked curve of his calves; ankles bared by heeled satin shoes. He loved the man more than his attire.

 

He rested his hands against his thighs where a simple cross stitching sat; one he had just started working on. 

 

"Sore," Louis admitted. "But not unbearable."

 

Harry nodded, eyeing him over.

 

"Might you like to sit in my lap awhile?"

 

Louis felt his pulse trip over itself. He would like to kiss Harry the way they had been kissing when they had been found by Alexander.

 

"I might," he agreed breathily. 

 

Harry moved to sit in the grand arm chair and patted his thigh.

 

"Would you like for me to read to you?" He asked as Louis walked over, resting his ass on Harry's thigh and hooking his legs over his lap.

 

He reached up to press a kiss to Harry's stubbly jaw; still so because of his "disguise".

 

Harry's breathing hitched with a swallow. He tilted his head downwards.

 

"You wish me to make better use of my tongue," Harry observed with a twinkle in his eyes. "Who am I to refuse you?"

 

Louis let Harry kiss him; tender and gentle at first as if he feared he might break him.

 

"You were once the Prince of England," Louis whispered against his cheek. "You can refuse whatever you wish..."

 

Harry cupped his cheek and sealed their lips; flicking his tongue into his mouth to prove a point. He would not resist Louis at all.

 

That was how Robin found them; not kissing but Louis perched on Harry's lap. 

 

"Ah, gentleman, I trust all is well?"

 

Louis jumped from his position and stood beside Harry's chair with a sheepish smile and a belated bow.

 

Robin gestured for him to sit.  Louis went to move past Harry to take a seat in an empty chair, but Harry's fingers circled his wrist and tugged him down into his lap once more.

 

Louis blushed and avoided meeting Robin's gaze.

 

"Harold, your first attendant from the Palace has requested a trip up to the house to check I'm being looked after properly," Robin shared. "You might recall; his name is-"

 

"Liam?" Harry's head snapped up; as did Louis'.

 

Robin nodded.

 

"He knows not of your arrival but he got wind of the sword fight on the road to Cheshire and he wanted to ensure that we are all well."

 

Harry smiled tentatively; letting a breath out.

 

"How is he? Has he married?"

 

Robin chuckled with a shake of his head.

 

"He has been courting Paula for some time," he mused. "Hence he oft often requests to visit!"

 

With that Robin turned from the room, closing the door quietly.

 

Louis felt the gentle brush of Harry's hand over his arm.

 

"May we stay one more day to see Liam?"

 

Louis turned toward him to curl back against his body.

 

"I would love to."

 

//

 

"You do not know how good it feels to have you in my arms!" Liam was yet to let go of Louis while Harry stood beside them waiting for his welcome.

 

Louis patted his friend on the back.

 

"Temper your ardour," Louis teased. 

 

Liam pulled back and bowed to Harry.

 

"Your Majesty..."

 

Harry huffed and stepped forth to hug his old aide warmly. 

 

"We have missed you greatly," he expressed on a gritty throat.

 

"I thought you would never return," Liam confessed. "How have you passed unseen?"

 

Harry shrugged, long fingers stroking over his bristled chin.

 

"It is my beard that deceives them."

 

Liam laughed.

 

"They would not expect their charming Prince to appear with a beard!"

 

"Do you find it suits me?" Harry lifted his chin into the air to ask.

 

"You look altogether like a rogue," Liam assured.

 

Harry smiled warmly, eyes flicking to Louis.

 

"What does my love make of it?" He asked in a softer, deeper tone.

 

Louis' cheeks flushed because Harry liked to rasp his bristled hair over his skin to pinken it; creating hot patches wherever he desired. The last time his thighs had been victim and he had struggled to walk normally thereafter. 

 

The sensation of it though; the burn and prickle...Louis would happily hobble to experience it again.

 

"I think you are handsome no matter what," Louis promised.

 

Harry's eyes alighted playfully.

 

"Did you hear that Louis earned an admirer on the journey to Cheshire?" Harry asked.

 

"No," Liam smiled at his friend curiously. "Regale me with the story at once!"

 

"Apparently, he is a sweet cherub," Harry's eyes twinkled as he moved towards Louis to slide arms around his waist. "Only the fellow forgot that he is _my_ sweet cherub alone..."

 

Liam licked his lips.

 

"The sword fight, Sir? It was you?"

 

Louis rolled his eyes and presented his cheek when Harry ducked to kiss him.

 

"It was him," Louis confirmed. "And one of us was almost killed."

 

Harry pouted, cuddling Louis in.

 

"You are not still angry, are you?"

 

Louis lifted his chin and reached up the place a tender kiss upon Harry's lips.

 

"Only that you did not listen," he mumbled.

 

Harry smiled fondly at his beau.

 

"I did not listen because I had your honour to fight for. The very thing I worked so hard to win..."

 

Louis accepted another longing kiss pressed into his lips, his hand lifting to naturally cup the back of Harry's head; fingers threading into his softly curled hair. 

 

Liam cleared his throat.

 

"I make to leave you," he announced; cheeks ruddy when Harry lifted his head to assess him.

 

"No need," Harry assured. "I am about to go out to check the horses for our journey..."

 

"Where are you travelling to?"

 

"Doncaster," Louis shared. "To look for my father."

 

Liam smiled.

 

"I wish you the very best of luck."

 

"You two should while the afternoon away with mischief as you used to do," Harry commented with an amused smirk as he moved toward the door; having stepped out of his embrace with Louis.

 

"What mischief did we make?" Louis enquired with innocence; indignantly.

 

Harry turned with a flourish, a hearty chuckle escaping his bowed lips.

 

"You have forgotten how you made me fall for you, I see!"

 

Louis pursed his lips with a huff.

 

"I merely attended your exquisite library and attempted to escape at the earliest opportunity..."

 

Harry's smile deepened; his eyes softening with love.

 

"And I could not allow you to escape."

 

Louis swallowed; feeling the way Harry's eyes raked over him; slowly, a heat burning behind his irises that Louis’ body responded to without help.

 

"Perhaps I will admit that I do not mind," He managed softly.

 

"I should like to hear more confessions, but I must leave otherwise our trip shall be postponed once again." Harry sighed. 

 

Louis nodded.

 

"I shall confess all when we are next alone."

 

"I look forward to inspiring such revelations," Harry winked and turned to leave the room 

//

 

Doncaster was once a modest town; marked with stately buildings and shops galore.

 

Riding into the foothills brought a very different picture.

 

Thick smoke plumed heavily upwards into the greying winter sky; numerous factories apparently in full flush.

 

Louis brought his horse to a stop, lips parting in awe at the progression.  London had been industrial from the start, but Louis had never expected to come home to _this._

 

"Is anything the matter?" Harry stilled beside him.

 

Louis pressed his lips together to bide the pain swelling in his chest.

 

"It does not look much like home," he murmured.

 

Harry swallowed, considering the horizon of black smoke and outlines of buildings. He had on clothes in the latest fashion: a thick, long double-breasted wool coat in dashing grey, a pair of sand coloured trousers with smart shoes and a bowler hat over his long hair. 

 

Louis had been given a servant’s uniform; baker boy cap and beige rough wool jacket and trousers. They had all agreed it best that he travel as Harry's aide. 

 

Harry reached out, large palm settling against Louis thigh. Louis yearned for the touch to turn into something more. He felt protected under Harry's touch, he felt as though he _belonged_.

 

The next few days in Doncaster would be fraught with uncertainty and the simple warmth of Harry’s hand upon his skin was soothing enough to settle some of his nerves.

 

"It might feel more like it once we are settled." Harry counselled softly. 

 

Louis nodded, turning his gaze to his beau. He placed his hand atop Harry's. 

 

"Let us keep moving in the event you should be recognised."

 

Harry shot him a grin.

 

"I should think not in this most wonderful hat!"

 

With that, he galloped away.

 

//

 

They waited until sun down to ride out to the address Louis had called home for the first fifteen years of his life.

 

The streets were awash with filth and the stench was overwhelming. 

 

He paused them as they came to an archway which the horses would not duck under.

 

"Wait here," he whispered to Harry. "I will proceed on foot and report back immediately."

 

Harry agitated on his horse; turning his animal so that he could come face to face with Louis.

 

"I am not letting you proceed alone," he murmured as he watched cloaked figures scuttle through the shadows.  "It is far too dangerous. "

 

Louis smiled, aching to grasp his wrist in reassurance but knowing it was far too risky to do so.

 

"I am of this town," he shared confidently. "I shall be alright."

 

Harry swallowed, adjusting his bowler hat as his brows furrowed. 

 

"If you insist," he conceded as Louis dismounted. 

 

Louis walked over to hand him the reigns of his horse; using the exchange as an excuse to squeeze his hand.

 

"I will not be very long, joli petale."

 

Harry nodded with a huff.

 

"I shall be waiting."

 

//

 

The old shoe shop was no longer there.  The premises had been cleared out and a brothel appeared to have been cultivated; placed beside a drinking house only a few meters away.

 

Louis slipped inside among the patrons and avoided the boisterous activity inside to search out the owner; hoping they might have news of his father's whereabouts. 

 

"Excuse me," he bowed to the bursar sat by the fire; a pouch stuffed with money laid in his lap.

 

"What do you want young fella?"

 

"I'm looking for someone," Louis explained. "Might you know who owned this shop before?"

 

The gentleman lifted his narrowed pale blue eyes; black hair sweaty and skin dusty from the smoke that gushed out of the chimney into the room. Louis reckoned they needed a chimney sweep.

 

"Aye, but who are you?"

 

Louis sucked in a breath.

 

"I am Tomlinson of France. I am looking for Mark Tomlinson."

 

The man in the chair wriggled himself upright from his slouched position, frown creasing his face.

 

"I know 'im. " He confirmed with a sharp nod.

 

Louis' heartbeat patterned erratically in his chest, hope surging. 

 

"And do you know where he is now?" He asked eagerly, staggering forward as a drunken patron shunted into his back.

 

He brushed off the beer that spilled onto the arm of his jacket agitatedly.

 

"Sir, please," he begged.

 

The man's eyes travelled over him slowly.

 

"'E's buried in the grave yard," he shared. "Up at the church..."

 

Louis' heart stopped in his chest; rushing to catch up.

 

"Say that again?" He whispered.

 

"Fella died about six years gone," the man told him. "I bought this place when it went up for sale. 'Parrently they tried to find any living relatives, but none came forward..."

 

Louis' fingers curled around his lapels.

 

"I... I am his son! I have been unable to return to visit until now...I-"

 

"They printed something in the paper 'bout it. Doubt you got to see..."

 

Louis felt a lump form in his throat, tears breaching his eyes. Harry would be worried about him by now; he might even tether the horses to search for him. He felt as though his feet were not touching the ground at all, but he had to get back to him to share the news. Once they were alone he could take whatever comfort Harry might offer.  

 

"Listen lad, I can see it has been a shock to ya. Why don't you sit down an' 'ave a little whiskey...take a bed for the night..."

 

Louis glanced around at the women half-laced into their bodices; skirts plumped up to bare their thighs.

 

"Thank you, but I have a place to sleep tonight," he lied, knowing that he and Harry had yet to find an Inn.

 

"Blessed journey then!" The owner cheered as Louis stumbled away.

 

//

 

It was as he was coming back through the archway that he caught a commotion in the street.

 

The horses were untethered and rearing wildly; pedestrians flailing to avoid their hooves.

 

Louis ran over to catch up the leather reigns; eyes scanning the crowd for Harry.

 

He feared calling his real name aloud and twisted about to search for a glimpse of him.

 

"Joli petale!" He called, loud enough for most of the town to hear he thought.  "Où es-tu?"

 

When Harry didn't come into sight he quickened towards an onlooker.

 

"Excuse me...where is the man with these horses?"

 

The gentleman- dressed in fine clothes for the area of town they were in- turned toward him.

 

“I have not seen anyone,” he frowned. “Just that these horses were loose.”

 

Louis sucked in air as his heart pounded fearfully; body twisting to scan the crowd again.

 

“Has anyone seen a man?!” He called out. “He was with these horses!”

 

The figures rambling around the square drifted into darkened corners; shadows hiding their truths.

 

“Please!” Louis begged, breath becoming fast with panic. “I must find him!”

 

He felt tears prick the backs of his eyes; gasping in air to ward them off. If any of these men were to catch him crying he’d be beaten and left for dead.

 

“Young man,” a kind voice called softly; rather weak and rasped with age.

 

Louis turned toward the hand that fastened around his arm gently.

 

“Sir,” he begged. “Have you seen a man, tall, with a hat?”

 

The gentleman gripping his arm was elderly, dark brown eyes kind behind dark lashes. He looked gaunt, was stooped a little and Louis felt empathy wash over him. He must be starving. He looked like Louis had before Harry had fed him.

 

“He was taken by the Sheriff’s men,” the man told him.

 

Louis blinked.

 

“Whatever for?”

 

The elderly man let go of his arm and turned back into the square; threading among the lingering onlookers to find his way home. Louis let out a breath. He had to go to the Sheriff’s office and sort this out.

 

//

 

“Ah, mon petit cherubin,” Alexander opened the door to the Sheriff’s office with a deep bow, sweeping his feathered hat from his head grandly.

 

Louis squinted at him, confused. Of all the places for the man to show up, it would have to be when Louis had to attend with a matter of the law.

 

“I wish to speak to the Sheriff,” he announced.

 

Alexander settled his hat with a smirk.

 

“You are already speaking with him.”

 

Louis’ heartbeat fell over itself.

 

“ _Pardon_?” He asked, his native accent naturally returning due to his extended time in France.

 

“So, you do speak Francais,” Alexander’s head tilted as his brow rose. “ _Revenons à notre langue préférée (let us revert to our favourite language)_ …”

 

“I do not have time for your games!” He huffed. “Where have you placed my travelling companion?”

 

“Does he not have a name?” Alexander enquired.

 

For five long seconds Louis felt a lead weight drop in his stomach; fear threading into his veins. Had Alexander recognised Harry? Had he taken him hostage to demand a ransom? What if he refused to release him?

 

Louis stepped back, feet uncertain as he faltered; hand clawing out to grasp something to steady himself. He rested against the water trough for the horses, loosening his top jacket buttons to help himself breathe more easily.

 

“Come inside a moment and regain your strength,” Alexander invited, stepping into the street to retrieve him.

 

Louis shook his hand off his arm; not the same gentle touch as the old man who had stepped forth to help him.

 

“I am not coming inside unless you can tell me what has happened to my companion.”

 

“And yet a name is still not forthcoming,” Alexander mused. “He cannot mean very much to you after all…”

 

“His name is Edward,” Louis invented quickly, remembering Harry’s middle name from when he first introduced himself; the name shared with his Uncle.

 

“Like the King,” Alexander pondered and Louis wondered if he had chosen a name too close to the truth. “But not befitting for a mere statesman,” he decided.

 

Louis let out a breath of relief. Alexander could not know of Harry’s origin, then.

 

“What is he held for?” Louis demanded. “What crime?”

 

“He was visiting the whore house,” Alexander smiled. “A crime punishable by the removal of his hands by sword…”

 

Louis’ eyes widened, lips parting.

 

“It is I who went into the whore-house, not he! You must set him free at once!”

 

Alexander stepped closer, his hand cupping again under Louis’ elbow as he leaned in. Louis could not lean away for fear of upturning himself in the trough.

 

“Perhaps a barter can be made, _ma cherie_ …”

 

Louis shuffled his feet back slightly, wriggling to escape the trough and the attentions of a man he would rather not be on the receiving end of.

 

“What do you wish for?” Louis asked. “How much?”

 

Alexander laughed heartily, his hand sliding up Louis’ arm to grasp around his bicep more firmly.

 

“I really rather hoped for your company,” he flirted. “Tell me your name, _s'il vous plait_.”

 

Louis glared at him, fire burning up through his belly into his chest. He wanted to spit at the man or to butt his head! But he could not, otherwise Harry would be lost to his prison until such a time Alexander deigned to kill him.

 

“William,” he lied, giving his own middle name to match that of Harry’s. If they must be held against their will’s then at least let them have that in common.

 

If Louis were to cry for help then none would come. The fact that Alexander was overtly exposing his preference of men would ensure that Louis would be killed without the protection of the town’s Sheriff. In some small part of himself he found ironic hope that one day society would accept two men (or two women) to be seen together but the thought did not come with the victorious relief that it should have.

 

For he was being invited into a trap which he did not know how to relieve himself from. And the alternative was sickening. The alternative was to leave Harry there and plot his release another way. Louis might not see a solution in this moment; a moment when his heart beat painfully hard in his chest from being separated from his love, but perhaps with the cold light of dawn he might be struck with genius.

 

“William is not a French name,” Alexander observed.

 

“My mother was English,” Louis told him. “And I do not wish to keep your company.”

 

“Then your companion shall go cold and hungry for the night,” Alexander stepped away from him, releasing his arm as he turned with a flourish. “Goodnight William!” He called as he strode into the office.

 

Louis swallowed down his fear.

 

 _Merde_.

 

//

 

The warmest place to rest himself was underneath the protective roof of the railway station. There were rumours that the Plague had hit the town harshly in the last century and Louis wrapped himself up carefully in a blanket stored on the rear of his horse; avoiding crowded areas in case of disease.

 

The trains were a new addition to the town that was once famed for it’s stage coaches. The inns that once populated the streets were now closed. Louis did not mind the outside sleeping place but he would have preferred a body beside his to keep the warmth.

 

He did not sleep for fear of being robbed or taken so he forced his eyes open and listened to the night. At around twilight, he heard his name being whispered and he wondered if he had become delusional from the lack of sleep.

 

“Louis, wherever are you?!” The voice hissed.

 

His head shot up, banging his crown against the wall slightly in his sleepy haste; eyes narrowing in the dark to make out his caller. He had for one moment hoped it was Harry; escaped from his imprisonment and searching for him as he had along the road leading from the Palace the day they had run away.

 

Alas, Harry was nowhere in sight, only the quiet clip-clop of hooves assisting him as the source of the voice.

 

“Who is there?” He called.

 

The horse’s hooves stopped and then seemed to turn; the tempo speeding up as they came upon him.

 

“Louis!” Liam lurched out of the dark in a hessian cloak; his head hooded with the rough material.

 

“Mon dieu!” Louis whisper-shrieked, hand clutching at his chest.

 

Liam wrapped him up in a quick, hard hug.

 

“Thank God!” The taller man breathed in relief. “I have found you!”

 

“What are you doing here?” Louis set him away but gripped his arms gently.

 

“I followed you!” Liam stated proudly, slipping off his hood to comb out his fringe. “I did not like the thought of leaving you both in dire need.”

 

Louis sucked in a breath and hugged him again, squeezing his eyes shut.

 

“That is where you find me, friend,” he sighed.

 

Liam tilted his head.

 

“Where is Harry?”

 

Louis swallowed.

 

“He is being kept by the Sheriff,” he explained softly. “He has been charged with visiting a whore-house and we both know he would not,” he scoffed. “It was I who entered, to ask after my father but the Sheriff is-“

 

Louis paused, face creasing.

 

“He is what, Louis?” Liam urged.

 

Louis looked his friend in the eyes.

 

“He is the same man that nearly had the sword fight with Harry on the road to Cheshire.”

 

Liam paused for a moment, brows furrowing thoughtfully.

 

“The man who wished to court you?” He checked, remembering Harry’s account of the ambush.

 

“I do not know that courting is what he wished to do with me,” Louis commented wryly. “However, he did try to barter Harry’s release in exchange of my company.”

 

Liam blinked at him, sucking in a breath.

 

“This is very bad news. It will be difficult to secure his release.”

 

Louis suddenly felt his bravado slip away; stubborn faith in securing Harry’s freedom quelled. His hands began to tremor; his legs turning to jelly. He appealed to Liam with big blue eyes.

 

“Please do not tell me so,” he whispered. “I must believe we can free him.”

 

Liam pressed his lips together and squeezed Louis’ shoulder.

 

“We can,” he swallowed. “Of course, we can. We have probably faced much worse!”

 

Louis lifted fearful eyes to his friend.

 

“If it comes to it then you must let me take the brunt of any punishment,” he spoke quietly; the streets now empty of people.

 

Liam lifted a brow.

 

“I may reside at the Palace now, but I am from Wolverhampton. There is not a fight which I will lose gladly,” he assured. “We need a plan,” he added.

 

Louis nodded with a sigh.

 

“That is where I am stuck,” he mused.

 

Liam shuffled them back towards the station; tethering his horse beside the other two.

 

“Then let us sit and work one out,” he promised.

 

//

 

The gaol was locked at night; Alexander returning at around four o’clock in the morning to enter the building.

 

Louis and Liam watched him slip into the brick building via the wooden door.

 

The building used to be a state house; now empty of its original furniture and decoration and stripped bare to its cold stone floors and walls; the rooms no doubt segregated by iron bars with more locked doors.

 

If they had any hope of releasing Harry, then they needed to get inside whilst Alexander was away at night; but to fetch the keys would be impossible which left only thuggery. Louis did not know how to break a lock but he might be able to lift the door from its hinges. The mechanics could not be very different than those he used in making his shoes.

 

“Perhaps I could distract him,” Louis considered as the pair of them ducked back behind a shrouding barrel.

 

“How?” Liam queried.

 

“Get him drunk,” Louis suggested.

 

“That would mean spending time with the villain,” Liam scowled.

 

Louis looked at him.

 

“If I plied him with wine then I could snatch the keys.”

 

“Do you wish to take the risk?” He asked.

 

If Louis were not in love with the man captured within the walls of the building then he would happily take such a risk. But to give Alexander any impression of where his affections lay other than with Harry filled him with the kind of sick feeling that he only experienced when Harry’s welfare was endangered.

 

He could not pretend for any reason, not even to snatch keys. For if Alexander should touch him in any way then he would never forgive himself. Harry would not forgive him either. He lifted his chin defiantly.

 

“We will break in at midnight,” he confirmed. “Let us accrue some weapons in the event of an ambush,” he added.

 

Liam nodded and they hurried into the street.

 

//

 

Right before they shuffled up to the front door of the gaol, Louis had felt shaky and nervous; frightened not for his own life but for Harry’s.

 

He had spent two nights on the cold, hard floor among other criminals, with no food and most likely with rampant disease. He tried not to think of the capital punishment that may have been cast upon him. He had to focus on the task at hand and it wouldn’t do to fall apart over such thoughts.

 

The night was cold and it did not help that the sky was clear; lending light from the moon. He pulled a folded neckerchief over his mouth to shield his features; his clothes borrowed from Liam’s knap sack.

 

They’d both tried to find the darkest coloured clothes to don; ripping cloths to tie around their heads also in disguise. With the hand pistols they’d gathered, they could be mistaken for train thieves.

 

Louis had strapped his toolkit around his waist and hoped it would be enough to release the doors of the gaol.

 

“The coast is clear,” Liam whispered, having checked around the corner.

 

They scuttled to the front door and Liam kept watch whilst Louis assessed the frame.

 

“The hinges are pinned,” Louis whispered, kneeling to start work on loosening the lowest hinge first.

 

“I assume that is positive news,” Liam murmured in return, eyes sliding back and forth across the moonlit square.

 

“Very good,” Louis confirmed. “Except for the fact they are rusted.”

 

He picked through his tools to find the best groover to dig out the joint; using his bare fingers to twist the pin; the sharp metal edge slicing his skin.

 

“Ouch,” he hissed; pulling the rags off his head to buffer his skin against the metal. He tied the strip of cloth around the head of the pin and tugged; inching it out of the hole.

 

The pin jerked out; causing Louis to fall back slightly onto his behind.

 

“Are you alright?” Liam checked, moving to help him up.

 

Louis shook off his hand.

 

“Keep watch,” he insisted. “I need a crate to elevate myself for the top of the door,” he mused, wandering into the street to find something suitable to stand on.

 

He returned with a smooth block from the Mason’s yard, resting it down in front of the door. Still then he had to get on tip-toe to reach, clenching his teeth in frustration when the rust refused to be dug away.

 

“We shall be here all night!” He hissed in annoyance, tucking his groover away and pulling out his knife to chisel away the damaged iron.

 

“Do you need a rock to act as a hammer?” Liam suggested.

 

Louis glanced at him.

 

“You are meant to be keeping watch,” he reminded softly.

 

“There is no-one about,” Liam assured.

 

Louis got down from his perch to summon a small rock; bashing away at the upper pin in an effort to loosen it. He began to sweat; arms aching with the continued elevation; his feet aching from standing on tip-toe. He was about to give in the task when the pin popped out; drawing a relieved breath from his lungs.

 

“Thank God, I thought it would never leave!” Louis hastened to lever the door open from the hinged side; the thick wood taking some persuasion to unsettle from the frame.

 

Once there was enough room to slip inside, Louis dove through the gap.

 

“Wait outside!” He called to Liam, heart thrashing in his chest. “Whistle if someone is coming…”

 

“Be quick!” Liam hissed back.

 

_Be quick._

 

Louis hastened through the cold stone walls, eerie echoes sounding as he rushed from gate to gate, eyes searching the space for one man only.

 

“Sir! Please!”

 

“Help us!”

 

Prisoners called out to him as he paused to look; his heart twisting painfully at being unable to free all the men who had no doubt been imprisoned unfairly.

 

“I am sorry,” he whispered, moving through the house to find the next cell. “I cannot help you all.”

 

Once he had been to the top of the building and had not found Harry, he thundered back down the steps to search for a dungeon. The door was also heavy but luckily unlocked; the hinges protesting loudly when he swung the door open.

 

“Are all the hinges rusted?” He muttered to himself; treading down the damp steps carefully; his fingers curling around his pistol protectively.

 

He could hear a distant muttering; a separate whining voice and the sound of footsteps. He swallowed, shuffling along the walls to peer into the cells one by one.

 

“Who goes there?” A voice called out. _Not Harry._

 

Louis ran past the iron bars to skid to a halt outside the next cell. The muttering was clearer, nonsense spilling from the prisoner’s lips. Louis glanced into the space and was relieved that the man sat in the corner talking to himself was not his love.

 

If Harry was injured then he could be mended. If he had lost his mind, Louis did not know what he might do.

 

“Merde,” he murmured, crossing the room to peek into the next room, set slightly at an angle to the two he had just visited.

 

The whining voice was inside the third cell. Louis squeezed his eyes shut and prayed upwards that it didn’t contain Harry. He twisted his body to look; eyes falling on a young boy all of seventeen. He was topless and his back bore fresh welts from being whipped.

 

Louis felt the bile rise in his stomach and tried to block out his pained sobs. He wanted to ask what he had done; what crime could possibly earn such a punishment? But he needed to find Harry and time was running out. He edged up to the last cell, teeth biting hard into his lip.

 

The pacing footsteps stopped as he hovered.

 

“Whoever you are, I am not afraid!”

 

 _Harry_.

 

_Mon dieu._

 

Louis stepped into vision; chest heaving with relief, eyes widening to take in the version of Harry which stood there.

 

“Louis?” Harry’s voice was disbelieving, soft and uncertain.

 

His cheek was bruised; his right eye swollen shut. His arm looked to have been bleeding; fingers soaked in dried blood, also. Louis’ breath caught in his throat though, when he realised that Harry’s hair had been hacked off; long, messy strands left atop his head and tapered into his neck messily.

 

“What have they done?” Louis’ eyes went over him; again and again searching out the misdemeanours that had been cast upon his body.

 

Harry walked forward with a slight limp; teeth gritted to abate the pain.

 

“I thought I would never see you again,” Harry swallowed, green eyes softening.

 

Louis looked past the bravado and sensed fear in them.

 

“I did not know where you had gone!” He clasped the prison bars. “I came out of the whore house and there were only the horses!”

 

Harry shook his head, stepping closer to wrap his hands around Louis’ on the bars, forehead pressing against the metal.

 

“They took me, bound me with chains and threw me into this damp squalor,” he lamented. “I feared I would be dead before you found me.”

 

“Mon petale soyeux,” he murmured. “I could not rest until you were found.”

 

Harry smiled, pushing his lips between the bars and pouting them for a kiss. Louis tilted his face to reach; the tiniest of kisses landing between their lips.

 

“Let us get you out to share a proper kiss,” Louis mused.

 

Harry stepped back from the door.

 

“How will you free me?”

 

Louis studied the hinges and decided they were too complex to break in a short space of time. He went to his belt to find a pointed tool to hammer at the padlock instead. He got to work.

 

//

 

The whistle came around five minutes later when Louis had cracked the latch of the lock open, quickly swinging the gate open to pull Harry out.

 

Harry gave a yelp and stumbled over his own feet; grasping the wall for balance.

 

“There is no time to embrace,” Louis hissed. “We must only try to escape before Alexander finds us!”

 

Harry followed Louis up the stairs, hand squeezed tightly in his smaller one; feet lazily trying to keep up. At the top of the stairs Louis paused; footsteps echoing down the halls.

 

“Look upstairs!” Alexander called; a rush of movement sounding above them as a sole pair of footsteps came closer to the top of the hall. “I shall search the dungeons,” he murmured to himself.

 

Louis pressed Harry against the wall behind the door and wrapped his arms around his waist; nose tucked tightly into his neck to silence his breath. Harry could only cling to his shoulders, mouth pressed against Louis’ soft hair.

 

The door opened so far it pressed them into the wall, Alexander moving down the steps. Louis pressed gently against the door to avoid summoning the loud whinge from the rusted hinges; leading Harry around the thick wooden slab and into the light of the hall.

 

“Men!” Alexander’s voice hollered out, high-pitched and urgent.

 

Louis took the cue to run; dragging Harry behind him in his injured state.

 

“Exécuter, bébé,” he hissed. “Run!”

 

Harry kept pace behind him, the guards scattering into the hall before they quite made it to the front door where Louis once more pulled Harry into a hiding space; harsh breaths held in by tight mouths; fearful of making any sound to notify the guards of their presence.

 

Once the guards had charged down the steps to the dungeon, they sprinted into the square; gathering Liam up along the way.

 

“Keep going!” Liam tagged on their heels as they ran. “Do not look back!”

 

//

 

The horses were tied up by the river; all three of them not wasting any time with formalities before they set off at a fast run; their horses only too willing to follow the command.

 

“Are they following us?” Harry looked around when his horse began to struggle with the pace, easing the animal off to a canter.

 

Liam was at the back of their trio; twisting to listen for any movement.

 

“We should not assume we are safe,” he suggested. “However, we might wish to take an alternative route to Chester since the man already knows that is where you were headed.”

 

Harry twisted his lips, frowning in annoyance until his face throbbed with the movement. His right leg was badly beaten and had hardly any grip in the stirrup but he was pretending to be well until they reached safety. It would only worry Louis if he spoke of his injuries.

 

“Louis,” he called ahead to the fast rider.

 

Louis slowed his horse immediately, twisting in his saddle until he came alongside the other two men at a slower trot.

 

“What is the matter?”

 

“Our horses cannot run any longer. We must seek another route to stay safe,” Harry said.

 

Louis swallowed, eyes searching his. Only one green orb was visible, the other still enclosed in swollen, angry-looking skin. He ached to reach out and cup Harry’s face; to kiss him and whisper his love into Harry’s lips. But they could not stop for one second if they had any hope of reaching home before night fall.

 

“I know a way,” he said.

 

Liam lifted his chin.

 

“You do?”

 

“Yes. My father used to send me to market in Cheshire for certain things he could not buy in town,” he shared. “Due to my young age he preferred that I did not ride on the main road for fear I would be stolen away as a slave. So, I learned a route across the fields. It is not an easy route by any means. It is quite rocky and difficult. It would mean having to give the horses a rest.”

 

Harry and Liam exchanged a look.

 

“It would still be better than being in the spotlight,” Harry commented.

 

“Not many will know my route,” Louis shared. “I did not cross paths with any other riders when I took it.”

 

Harry nodded, his horse rearing slightly in agitation.

 

“Then let us pray the way is still clear,” he decided. “We will be safer among the fields.”

 

Louis led his horse off the smooth dusty road and down into the steep embankment; steering the animal slowly and with care.

 

He looked back upon Harry; shoulders curved inwards and body collapsing against the jolts of the uneven ground.

 

Once they reached the bottom of the cavern; striding into a lush field of corn; Louis paused, reaching across to grasp Harry’s hand against the reigns.

 

“You might fare better sharing a horse.”

 

Harry looked at him, lids low; throat bobbing with a painful swallow.

 

“I can manage.”

 

Louis slipped a look to Liam who hesitated beside them.

 

“You are in a great deal of pain I can tell,” Louis whispered. “We cannot abate it immediately but you can ride with me and prevent yourself the effort.”

 

Harry sighed, biting his lip.

 

“Very well,” he conceded.

 

Louis jumped down from his animal and settled behind Harry; arms tucking under his to take the reigns.

 

“Lean on me,” Louis told him, tying their horses together for the journey.

 

They could switch animals when Louis’ horse grew tired.

 

Harry slumped into him; hand curving around the thigh of his bad leg to cushion it until Louis dug into his bag for a blanket which Harry propped underneath his leg with a quiet ‘thank you’.

 

Soon enough, Liam was prompting them to get going; the shadow of the trees their cover as they set away again hastily.

 

//

 

At Stockport they found a Mill to take respite in.

 

The cotton and silk trade meant the town was busy during the day but come nightfall, the Mill was easy enough to break into and was still warm from the machine’s work during the day.

 

Louis supported Harry’s weight against him and laid him on a soft bed of folded material with a worried frown pinching his face. He cupped Harry’s cheek; thumb gliding gently over the bruise there.

 

“My Princess,” he whispered, more to make Harry smile than earn his attention. Harry’s lips remained in a flat line; both eyes closed in weariness. He took off his jacket to tuck around him, turning to beseech Liam.

 

“You will have to ride on without us,” he whispered. “He cannot ride like this.”

 

Liam swallowed, brown eyes wide.

 

“I do not know the way across the fields,” he pointed out. “I could try and make it back to the main road?”

 

Louis’ chest smarted.

 

“If you could bring the King’s guards we could get him home safely without fear of ambush,” Louis thought aloud. “Look at him…”

 

Liam peered past Louis’ shoulder. His eyes were sad when he looked back at his friend.

 

“He will be well after a rest,” he bolstered.

 

Louis swallowed down his fears.

 

“I will go and look for something to fortify us for the last stretch,” he suggested. “Take care of him, please,” he added before he slipped out of their hiding place.

 

//

 

Louis returned with apples and water; the former snuck from an apple tree and the latter from the well.  Luckily for him the night was dark, the moon covered by clouds and the air warmer for it.

 

He cut the apple with his knife, settling Harry gently into his lap to rouse him to drink and nibble on the sweet fruit.

 

Harry’s mouth must hurt too; he could barely chew but Louis coaxed him to eat a whole apple in the hope it would give him strength.

 

He cradled the bigger man in his arms, pressing soft kisses into his new, shorter hair as his fingers combed through the roughly shorn edges.

 

“Who cut your hair?” He whispered, heart breaking.

 

Harry’s throat bobbed with a swallow. He lifted a hand and reached for something; sighing when Louis quickly twined their fingers.

 

“Alexander did,” he whispered. “He mentioned that you might prefer him over me with his beautiful tresses,” he added wryly.

 

Louis scoffed, rolling his eyes.

 

“He does not know me very well, then.”

 

Harry’s fingers slipped deeper between Louis’, curling slightly to hold them against his tummy.

 

“He does not know you at all,” he agreed quietly, curling towards Louis’ warmth.

 

Louis glanced across the room towards Liam who was propped up with his arms folded, head lolled to the side in his half-conscious state.

 

“Can you ride?” Louis queried.

 

Harry’s lashes hit his cheeks; long and curled and stunningly pretty. His bruises did not dampen his beauty any. Louis wanted nothing more than to swaddle him up and let him rest until he was fully healed but they were still in danger.

 

“With you,” Harry replied, his voice soft and husked.

 

Louis smoothed his hair down, rubbing his thumb over his gently.

 

“Alright,” he sucked in a breath for courage. He merely hoped they would make the remainder of the journey without further injury.

 

//

 

Riding across the fields that led to the Royal House, Louis felt the tightness in his stomach begin to unwind.

 

At the far side of the field there was a road and that road led directly to the house; they were mere meters from home, now.

 

“Liam, will you go ahead and rouse the guards?” Louis asked his friend.

 

Harry was laid across his own lap; cushioned from the movement of the horse the best they could manage.

 

“I shall,” Liam replied, geeing his horse into one last sprint.

 

Louis slowed his own to a trot; checking on Harry. He was bundled up and awkward over the saddle but his head rested gently on Louis’ arm and if they were anywhere other than on the horse, Louis would lean down to kiss him.

 

“Did you really think you could escape me?” Alexander’s voice startled him; his horse rearing as the other man appeared suddenly in front of them; atop a horse of his own.

 

The hooves could not be heard among the soft ground they were travelling on, he must have been hiding amongst the trees.

 

Louis lifted his chin, settling his animal.

 

“I would suggest you do not take any sudden action, we have guards on the way,” he warned.

 

Alexander laughed.

 

“The King’s very own, do not tell me!” He goaded gleefully.

 

Louis swallowed. He could not very well admit the fact without revealing Harry’s identity. He remained quiet, coaxing his horse to tread slowly on, to see if Alexander would stop them.

 

He did; blocking their path with his own mottled stallion.

 

“You have a prisoner of mine,” Alexander observed.

 

Louis flicked his eyes to Harry and then back to Alexander, gauging his stance. His sword was rested in its hilt by his side; his gun not visible. Louis wrapped his fingers around his pistol; nestled by his hip and hidden by Harry’s lain body.

 

“We both know I am not willing to give him up,” Louis asserted.

 

“Je vais vous tuer tous les deux, alors (I will kill you both, then),” Alexander announced happily, reaching for his sword.

 

Louis moved quicker; fingers already curled around his gun which he lifted and shot; aiming directly for Alexander’s chest. The gunpowder exploded loudly; knocking Louis back and unsettling his horse who whinnied loudly but Louis swung around; setting the pistol to fire again; another bullet landing in Alexander’s chest to the other man’s surprise.

 

He gasped, clutching his wound; the sword slipping from his fingers and Louis could make out the distant thunder of hooves; the guards racing up the hill to reach them.

 

Alexander slid from his saddle to the ground with a thud, body lain helpless among the grass as Louis flung his pistol away; cheeks burning and hand shaking in sudden realisation as to what he had done.

 

“Louis!” Liam rode up beside him. “Are you alright?”

 

The guards scattered around the fallen man; confusion lacing their words.

 

“What happened? Is he dead? Who shot him dead?”

 

Louis swallowed, panic settling in; tears breaching his eyes.

 

“It was I,” he whispered, heart thundering like the horses hooves from a moment ago. “I killed him.”

 

“Louis, it will be alright,” Liam assured, sliding from his horse’s saddle. “Set Harry down, we will carry him home. Come now, get down off your horse…”

 

Louis let Liam and the guards take Harry gently down from his animal; setting him into a make-shift stretcher made of cotton cloth; six of them lifting him to carry him down the road.

 

“Wait!” He gasped, jumping to the ground. “I will walk with you.”

 

“What happened?” One of the guards asked again, this time directly to Louis who clung to the side of the cotton blanket which acted as a hammock for Harry’s body.

 

“The man threatened our lives,” Louis swallowed; almost letting slip that Harry was the lost Prince of England and therefore a very valuable commodity.

 

Liam pressed a palm against his back.

 

“Then you did what was necessary to protect you both,” he murmured. “Do not feel bad.”

 

Louis felt sick; to be honest. He had never killed a man; had never shot a gun with the intent to harm anyone. His father used to make him practice with a toy pistol and now he knew why. Should the day come that he could afford his own gun then he needed to know how to use it.

 

His chest ached at the reminder.

 

His father.

 

He would never earn back those lost years; the ones spent imprisoned in Kenneth’s dungeon. His father would never get to see him wield a gun. He would never meet his love; his one true love, the man he would die for himself.

 

Louis could not be certain that his father would approve of his courtship with a man but it did not matter. For having his disapproval was also not an honour he could attest to. His father was gone and there was nothing left to hold onto.

 

“Get him inside!” Robin demanded as the guards hustled at the front door. “Take him to the Princess Room,” he added quickly.

 

As soon as Harry was placed upon the bed, Louis tended to him; fingers gliding through his short hair.

 

Robin crowded his side, the Medic entering the room only once the guards had left.

 

“Louis, should I leave?” Liam asked tentatively.

 

Louis looked over at his friend and nodded.

 

“I will find you once Harry is settled.”

 

Robin sighed heavily beside him.

 

“What have they done?” He lamented of his son.

 

The Medic moved to undress the Prince, hands shaking with the audience watching him. Louis started forth as soon as his fingers met Harry’s tunic.

 

“I will undress him,” Louis decided, reaching over the bed to help Harry out of his clothes.

 

The ex-King moved to seat himself on the chaise-lounge in the corner of the room while Louis’ eyes travelled over Harry’s bare and bruised body.

 

He left his long underwear on but it barely hid the damage that had been caused by Alexander’s hands; and other sharp objects if the darkness of his bruises were anything to go by.

 

His right leg was mottled in blue and purple; the skin welted by the cruel flick of a whip and Louis wondered how on earth he had managed to run from the state house when they had fled; let alone travelled upon a horse. His ribs looked to be painful also; his chest swathed in flushed pink from some kind of heat; possibly a bed-pan smoothed over his skin to make it smart; but not left long enough to fully burn.

 

His face was swollen and bruised; his hair shorn but his scalp seemed to earn little pained cries when the medic checked him over; his deft fingers finding lesions among his filthy hair.

 

Louis helped to bathe him; gently washing his matted hair clean and combing it out for the barber to tidy it up the next day. His blue eyes met those of the medic, kind and brown and soft with understanding.

 

“Please do not tell a soul,” Louis only asked with a lump in his throat.

 

The man only nodded his acquiesce, patting Harry dry before applying remedies to his bruises and cuts to heal him more quickly.

 

Only once Harry was dressed in his night gown and rested comfortable and warm in the grand bed, did Louis turn away to face Robin.

 

“I am sorry that a man was killed today, Sir,” he bowed his head.

 

“You were protecting my son,” Robin allowed.

 

“But nobody can know that,” Louis worried.

 

Robin cleared his throat.

 

“I had hoped I might persuade you both to stay,” he admitted sheepishly. “Although I know it to be all but impossible without announcing Harry’s return.”

 

Louis looked up at him; heart aching from being torn. He loved his home country; had grown to love Antoine and Madeleine. But he was depriving Harry of his own family, too. He was depriving him of his rightful ownership to the throne.

 

“Let us talk more once Harry is rested,” he suggested.

 

Robin nodded.

 

“I am going to fetch some soup and bread for the patient,” he smiled, turning to leave the ex-King with his son.

 

//

 

“Where is my little mouse?”

 

The words were warm and teasing but Louis knew the effort it took to speak them. Harry was laid back on the bed with his eyes shut, still.

 

He split his good one open with the tiniest of smiles.

 

“I hear you shot a man to defend my honour,” he quipped.

 

Louis perched on the edge of the bed once he had sat Harry up enough to feed him his soup. Harry opened his mouth willingly to the food; deciding not to argue with his beau.

 

“How do you feel?” Louis asked, worried eyes going over his handsome face.

 

The swelling had already reduced in his eye; the redness not as bright in his cheek.

 

“I will be able to wreck a bed in no time,” he winked.

 

Louis pursed his lips with a little huff.

 

“I am glad you find amusement in my concern,” he chided.

 

Harry reached out, curling long fingers around Louis’ wrist; not unlike the time he had done so in the ball-room to prevent Louis from leaving.

 

“Mon amant (My love),” he rasped, voice deep with tiredness. “Sleep beside me, I cannot close my eyes without the sound of your heart-beat,” he murmured.

 

Louis felt his insides melt into his skin; his heart kicking up a pattering beat at the heart-felt words. He moved around the bed to rid his tunic and breeches; sliding under the covers beside Harry and curling around his side carefully.

 

Harry’s arm slid over his shoulders; hand resting against his arm.

 

“Do not leave,” Harry whispered.

 

Louis hummed his agreement.

 

//

 

“What of your father?”

 

Harry had woken slowly; stiff and sore from his bruises. He had curled Louis in closely, pressing lips against his hair in petty reminder that he was safe.

 

Louis swallowed at the question, propping himself up beside Harry and letting Harry curl himself into his lap. Louis’ fingers tugged gently at his uneven hair. Harry gave him a bashful smile.

 

“Do you mind very much that my hair is short?”

 

Louis smiled too, leaning down to place a gentle kiss against his lips.

 

“I do not mind one bit,” he assured. “And my father is dead,” he added softly.

 

“Dead?” Harry went to sit up but his body protested. Louis soothed him back into position against his thighs.

 

“There is nothing either of us can do about it,” he sighed.

 

“But I was not there when you found out,” Harry’s lips turned down unhappily, his eyes reflecting his distress.

 

“It is what it is,” Louis remarked kindly.

 

“I am sorry,” Harry pulled himself up; reaching to curve Louis into his arms.

 

Louis bit his lip against his tears; emotions still swirling in him that he hadn’t defined.

 

“Thank you,” he appreciated. “Now lay back down,” he shifted over on the bed to make space.

 

Harry rolled onto his back with a rueful smile.

 

“Am I promised a kiss if I behave myself?”

 

Louis smiled; nestling into his side once more and curling over to cup his cheek; thumb sliding away from the bruise.

 

“Are you forever on the make?” Louis teased; settling his lips against Harry's and sucking at his lower one leisurely.

 

Harry’s hand cupped the back of his head to draw him in, mouth slanting to deepen the kiss; his other arm lashing across Louis’ back to hold him in place. Harry moaned in his throat; deep and rumbling and Louis’ body answered instantly to the call.  He pressed himself further against Harry’s side, careful not to hurt him as he licked into Harry’s mouth, Harry’s tongue flicking back against his to answer the silent question.

 

Louis pressed kisses against the side of his mouth, over his good cheek and onto his jaw, whispering sweet words in French to remind him of how much he meant to him.

 

“I love you,” Louis whispered, pressing their lips together firmly as he hoisted himself up on the bed to better his position.

 

“I love _you_ ,” Harry mumbled against his mouth; arms wrapping him in close once more.

 

//

 

Louis found out the Chapel was just down the lane from the Royal House.

 

He did not want to leave Harry’s side so he asked him if he would accompany him one quiet afternoon.

 

Harry was up and about within two days; too antsy to stay in bed and keen to make a full recovery as soon as possible. With his hair now tidied by the barber along with a smart shave, he looked dashing and almost unrecognisable.

 

He borrowed stately clothes from his father and Louis wore some from the courtier’s; still assuming the position of aide to Harry’s supposed statesman.

 

He prayed for a long time that afternoon, conscience guilty over the death of a man at his own hands; the trauma of the incident still sitting heavily on his chest.

 

Once they were back at the house; Harry drew Louis into his lap to hold him.

 

“You should not feel bad when he wanted us dead, himself,” he reasoned.

 

“I could have tried to fight him with a sword,” Louis sighed. “I did not give him much of a chance to fight fairly.”

 

“You thought he would kill you,” Harry defended.

 

Louis bit his lip, settling on Harry’s good thigh a little.

 

“I thought he would kill _you_ ,” he amended, fingering his new fringe.

 

Harry blinked slowly; his swollen eye almost healed.

 

“Well, then. He had to go,” he teased pompously.

 

Louis found his lips moving into a smile, his gaze fastening on the olive green of Harry’s. He leaned down to kiss him, just sweetly.

 

“You father spoke of us staying,” he ventured.

 

Harry frowned, lips pursing in thought.

 

“He has not mentioned it to me.”

 

“It was after you were found,” Louis shared. “When we were walking back to the house. He told me he wanted to ask us to remain but it would mean announcing your return…”

 

Harry tightened his arms around Louis’ waist.

 

“Which is why we cannot remain,” he spoke slowly.

 

Louis sighed, fisting a hand into the thick material of his jacket.

 

“I did not have the last years with my father…you should take this chance to have yours.”

 

Harry blinked at him, throat bobbing.

 

“You wish me to take the throne?”

 

Louis shrugged, heart pattering wildly.

 

“If you wish. Or perhaps you could take another position in the Palace.”

 

Harry’s eyes flicked away, into the room, a heavy breath sucked into his lungs and expelled just as slowly.

 

“I have not thought about the possibility of staying,” he admitted.

 

Louis’ hand slid onto his neck.

 

“If you wanted to stay with your father, I would understand.”

 

“You would stay with me?” Harry checked, eyes focusing back on Louis’ face, sliding down to stare at his lips.

 

“You know I would,” he whispered.

 

Harry gazed back into his eyes, the green of his eyes appearing darker.

 

“May we roll in bed awhile?” He asked politely; with a knowing smirk.

 

Louis stood up to lead the way.

 

//

 

It was only in their private bed chambers that Louis could thread their fingers together or slide his hand across Harry's bare skin; able to indulge in the simple act of touching him.

 

It was only in bed that he could kiss him freely and roll on top of him to slot their bodies close to exact a pleasure so intense it brought them both to a splashing release.

It was only there that he could tell him quietly (or loudly when the mood took him) how much he loved him.

 

Louis had given Harry the freedom to make a choice about their future but he couldn't deny he missed the life they enjoyed in France.

 

They may not have much but the simple pleasures of holding hands and sharing a room were undoubtedly invaluable.

 

“What is on your mind, little mouse?”

 

Harry's hand; warm and calloused from his days working, spread delicately across Louis' belly as Louis reclined on his back among the pillows. Harry preferred Louis' chest as his pillow until he lifted his head to peer into his eyes.

 

Louis smiled and ran his fingers tenderly into Harry’s fringe; the short style still new to his digits

 

“I am thinking about you,” he admitted sweetly.

 

Harry fluttered his eyelashes; squirming against Louis' side with a feigned shyness.

 

“You seek to make me blush, Sir...”

 

“I seek to win your affections,” he teased; having learned long ago of Harry's love of playing parts.

 

“You already have them,” Harry stated, shifting himself up the bed to allow his mouth to press into Louis' when he leaned down to kiss him.

 

His hand cupped Louis cheek; thumb finding home in the hollow.

 

“Hmm,” Harry pulled away with a playful frown. “Much more of this and my whole body will be blushing...”

 

Louis curled a hand around his bare neck to hook him close for another long kiss. Their quiet privacy was only broken by a discreet knock on the door.

 

“Are you both awake?” Came Liam’s voice.

 

“We are,” Louis called out and Liam opened the door to find them entwined; still naked and lazily curled together.

 

“Forgive my intrusion,” Liam bowed and turned away slightly with an awkward cough.

 

“What is it, Liam?” Harry asked with a tiny smirk at his friend’s discomfort.

 

“Your father wishes to ride with you before lunch,” Liam relayed.

 

Louis slipped his gaze from Liam to Harry, rubbing his back in comfort.

 

“Go and join your father,” he murmured. “I shall see you at lunch.”

 

Harry gazed upon him for a long moment with a sulky pout upon his lips.

 

“I had rather hoped to test the fortitude of this bed;” he quipped, laughing at Liam’s scandalized look. “Never mind we shall reconvene, my love,” he winked.

 

 “Oui,” Louis smiled so that his eyes crinkled and his lips pursed slightly. When Harry hovered by the wardrobe to fetch his clothes, Louis tacked on; “Mon beau garçon”

 

Harry’s devilish smile lasted in Louis’ memory long after he left the room.

 

//

 

“This is certainly beautiful country,” Harry commented as his father led him out into hills.

 

A pair of guards rode behind them for protection.

 

“It is. Have I tempted you to stay?” Robin enquired idly.

 

Harry dipped his chin, his previous pleasured smile from appreciating the view slipping off his lips.

 

“I-“

 

“Your Highness!”

 

A shrill voice interrupted Harry’s thoughts; another rider racing up the hillside to catch them; thundering by the guards and unsettling their horses.

 

“Temper your horse,” Harry put up a hand to slow the oncoming aide.

 

The messenger pulled on his reigns; bringing his horse to a rearing halt.

 

“Your Highness, there is urgent news!” The young man relayed to the King.

 

Harry turned his horse, brows furrowing. He may never get used to being seen as a simple escort to his father but the lack of recognition and expectation was strangely comforting.

 

“What is the news?” Robin asked.

 

The horseman dug into his jacket for a scroll; unrolling to to read it word for word.

 

“It is addressed to your son,” he slid his eyes to Harry and gazed at him long enough for Harry to think the man may have recognised him after all. “The missing Prince,” he added pointedly.

 

Harry smirked, arching an eyebrow.

 

“Well, why do you gaze upon me so?” He enquired haughtily. “I am but a merchant,” he lied unconvincingly. His accent alone told of great wealth; along with the way he held himself on his horse.

 

But for those at the house (Harry having been taken in after being handcuffed) there had been no explanation for the switch to being placed in the best chamber of the house and it did not take a fool to work out that he shared more than one similar feature with the lost Prince.

 

“Leave us the script,” Robin told the man. “Ride back to the house and await my instructions,” he added in quiet warning.

 

The rider nodded and swallowed nervously; eyes flicking back to the unrolled page. He rolled it and passed it to Robin.

 

“It is in French,” Robin frowned, glancing at Harry.

 

The guards had paused about twenty feet away; gazes cast out to the surrounding greens; searching for signs of danger.

 

Harry reached for the paper; eyes flicking over the cursive writing, glancing at the signature.

 

“I do not recognise the writer,” he murmured, eyes returning to the top. “Dear Harry,” he began. “This message is to bring you unfortunate news.”

 

Harry looked up with a swallow. Robin nodded for him to go on.

 

“I am a Priest at the _Église Saint-Martin_ just a few miles from _ferme fluviale_ ,” Harry narrated.

 

“Speak in English, Harold,” Robin chided softly.

 

Harry lifted his olive eyes to his father and nodded with a soft smile.

 

“It brings me great sadness to write to you to inform you of a most upsetting incident; that is that Madeleine and Antoine Devereux were involved in an accident on the road to the market.”

 

Harry’s breath caught in his throat; his heart began to pound against his chest.

 

“No,” he begged, tears coming to his eyes. “It cannot be…”

 

Robin waited impatiently at his side.

 

“Read on,” he begged, “Or else I’ll find someone who can…”

 

Harry bit his lip; face creasing as his eyes went over the words again and again, barely believing their truth.

 

“The pair of them were ambushed by roadside thieves; their cart upturned when their horses were spooked and they were trampled among the hooves; the vagrants making away with all that they held of any value; leaving only their lifeless bodies in the road to be discovered by a poor milk-maid returning home from her work at the nearby _ferme de vert épais_.”

 

Robin did not ask Harry to translate; his son was shaking and barely able to push the words past his throat.

 

“We are sorry to advise you that there will be a burial ceremony for Madeleine and Antoine at the church on the fifteenth of the month.”

 

“That’s in ten days,” Robin inserted. “We have time to get you back.”

 

Harry stared at him, pupils pinpointed as his tremoring hand rested against his thigh.

 

“They are dead?”

 

Robin licked his lips, reaching to grip Harry’s wrist.

 

“Come, let us ride back to the house. This has come as a great shock.”

 

“However did they find me?” He wondered with a frown.

 

“Let us worry about that when we are warm with tea,” Robin suggested, taking the reigns of Harry’s horse to lead them in the ride back down the hill.

 

//

 

As soon as Louis was told the news he rushed down the stairs and into the parlour; crashing his body against Harry’s to hold him tightly as he cried.

 

He had rid his jacket and he looked like an elegant rogue in his improper dress- shirt unbuttoned at the neck and lace tie hanging limply either side; no jacket or waistcoat over the thin white cotton.

 

Louis couldn’t have cared less in that moment; hands pressing into Harry’s back in firm comfort; one sliding into his hair as Harry pushed his cheek against his neck.

 

“It cannot be true,” He sobbed. “Louis! Tell me this is slander!”

 

Louis shushed him and held him for the long moments he needed to settle his upset; his own heart ripping painfully out of his chest. The Devereux’s were their second family; a home from home. They were the ones who had allowed them to live freely in their affection; Madeleine even gifting her family ring for Harry’s promise of his love.

 

They had left them happy and healthy and now they were-

 

“May I see the letter?” Louis asked as he settled Harry on the chaise; tugging a blanket around his shoulders and stationing a cup of tea into his hand.

 

Harry sipped it; eyes vacantly scanning the bare wood floor.

 

Louis read through the message; a lump forming in his throat. He wiped away his own tears, brow furrowing at the last few lines of the letter.

 

“Did you see?” He looked up to Robin.

 

Robin smiled sheepishly.

 

“Forgive me, I have not learned to read French very well,” he apologised.

 

Louis smiled kindly.

 

“It states here that they did not have any other family,” he recounted. “They have left the farm to Harry and I. The priest has asked that we return to France to claim the inheritance and to pay our respects at the funeral…”

 

Harry’s head lifted at that; lip bitten.

 

“They have left us the farm?”

 

Louis nodded, sliding the page his way but Harry shook his head; eyes darting to the floor once more; apparently unable to read the script once more.

 

“We can make it back in time,” Louis ventured. “Even if my heart aches so.”

 

Harry sniffled; reaching for Louis who stood mere feet away. Louis slipped his hand into Harry’s and sat beside him; arm bracketing his waist.

 

“It will be okay, my beautiful rose. We will take over the farm and make it successful enough that they will be proud of us,” he assured.

 

“They gave us everything,” Harry whispered; blood-shot eyes lifting to meet Louis’. “How can we ever repay them?”

 

“By doing as they asked,” Robin stood up.

 

Harry leaned into Louis’ side a little, hand settling upon his thigh.

 

“We will all travel to France to pay them our respect,” Robin said. “And then we shall set you up in the business of farming,” he added importantly.

 

“Father,” Harry frowned uncertainly.

 

“Liam!” Robin barked.

 

A moment later, Liam entered the room with a bland smile.

 

“At your service,” he quipped warmly.

 

Robin walked over and gripped his shoulder.

 

“How do you feel about travelling?”

 

“Travelling, Sir?” Liam’s brows rose.

 

Louis leaned back in his seat to comb fingers through Harry’s hair and Harry took the opportunity to turn and place a tender kiss against his forehead.

 

“We are all off to France!” Robin announced jovially. “We should like you to accompany us on the expedition.”

 

Liam’s mouth gaped. He twisted and glanced into the hall; a signal to his affections for the maid, Paula.

 

“Sir…”

 

“You may bring the girl,” Robin added with a knowing smile.

 

Liam’s cheeks flooded with a flush and Louis couldn’t help his smile at the sight.

 

“Yes, Sir,” Liam agreed. “I shall accompany you to France. What is our purpose there?”

 

Robin relayed the news to Liam who looked upon Harry and Louis with sad brown eyes

 

“I am sorry for your loss,” he offered in a soft voice.

 

Harry rose from beside Louis and crossed the room to hug him; a warm sigh expelling from his lips.

 

“Thank you, my good friend. Your company is greatly appreciated.”

 

//

 

Louis and Harry travelled separately to Robin, Liam and Paula.

 

They took the first trade boat across the Channel and met the others at the port before setting off for Beaumont-du-Gâtinais.

 

The church that the Priest wrote to them from was a small journey along the river and once Harry had his father and friends settled in the farm house; he and Louis made the journey together.

 

That night they retired to their annexe; preferring not to stay in the main house whilst their memories were so vibrant. Dinner was spent in subdued; mourning silence and they  laid together in bed afterwards; their arms wrapped around each other but neither made a move for anything more.

 

The funeral was sombre and populated well by the local farmers and friends of the Devereux’s. Harry took great comfort in meeting the people who knew the couple better than he and Louis ever had.

 

They seemed to view Harry and Louis as the couple’s missing sons; never having had their own offspring. Harry didn’t correct their mistaken belief that he and Louis were mere friends and farm-hands from another village. They may as well believe the illusion.

 

It was Harry though, who took charge at the wake afterwards. He opened the kitchen door and settled some wooden chairs outside in the sunny courtyard; plying the guests with wine and some pastries that he had made the night before to quell his grief. He spent time talking slowly with each and every visitor; sharing some of his aspirations for the farm which had been left in their care.

 

If any of the villagers appeared surprised by the inheritance to two unknown farm-hands, none of them expressed it. It appeared they understood silently that the two young men were worthy of the gift.

 

It was Louis who vanished in those hours.

 

He had put his own grief on hold to comfort Harry when the news had been delivered and in the aftermath of the funeral; his heart had darkened and he had taken himself off to the long hill to watch the sun dip below the horizon; the same feeling sinking in his heart. Some of the light was now gone from his world.

 

He reached up to unclasp his chain from his neck; unhooking the diamond ring resting upon it and sliding it onto his finger. He was betrothed to Harry and the whole world should know it. Madeleine’s ring should be seen by everyone who came across them; a fond memory of her generosity.

 

Harry found him by striding up the worn walkway beside the cut corn stalks; settling beside him with a gentle sigh.

 

“We miss your company in the yard,” Harry offered.

 

Louis swallowed, eyes clinging to his knees where his arms were folded around them to keep them close to his body.

 

“I do not wish to put on an act today,” he whispered.

 

Harry turned and frowned at him.

 

“It is alright to show your distress, petit souris,” he murmured.

 

Louis shook his head, lifting his chin to meet Harry’s eyes. They had always been that beautiful mixture of gold and green in the sunlight and tonight was no different; the lowering sun turning the green to bronze. Harry was beautiful. Striking and handsome. Louis still did not understand how he won his affections.

 

“I mean to pretend as though I do not love you,” he amended softly. “Today I would like to hold your hand and not have anyone care.”

 

Harry reached out; fingers running over the back of Louis’ to unclench it from his knee. Once he had done so, he threaded their fingers together and kissed the back of it; pressing their joined hands against his thigh as he crossed his legs.

 

“I would do anything for you, Louis,” he promised. “That includes walking back down there with your hand in mine.”

 

Louis’ eyes flared at his suggestion.

 

“We would be killed,” he stated.

 

Harry hummed.

 

“I would face death for you,” he allowed.

 

Louis couldn’t help the way his lips curved into a smile. He twisted to press a kiss into Harry’s pouty mouth.

 

“You are ridiculous, sometimes,” he sighed.

 

Harry grinned and lengthened the kiss into long; sucking presses of his lips, humming happily with each repetition.

 

“Would you like to walk down the hill with me?” He asked when they got up to dust themselves off.

 

Louis swallowed, taking a deep breath.

 

“Alright, if I must,” he conceded.

 

Harry’s gentle hand against his lower back was decidedly telling to anyone who watched them approach. Louis could have stepped away or pushed Harry’s hand back toward his own body but his legs were quivering and his heart hurt so he only leaned into Harry more because of the warmth he radiated; a comforting thought among the cold, empty night.

 

Harry felt like challenging their guests outright; felt like fighting anyone who might make comment as to their stance but although a few pairs of eyes flicked over them curiously; some lingering at the way Harry escorted Louis into the yard, not one person spoke out about that curiousity to ask a blatant question.

 

Harry felt his anxiety recede as the gazes of their neighbours settled back to where they had been before they entered the fray.

 

The farmer’s daughter of the cow farm along the road approached with a bow.

 

“Monsieur, je suis désolé pour votre perte (Sir, I am sorry for your loss),” she expressed.

 

Louis shifted on his feet and nodded, feeling light-headed. He stumbled backwards; supported by Harry’s hand against his lower back but when his hand flailed outwards for balance; Harry’s other hand rose to grasp it.

 

“It is alright,” Harry murmured in his ear; eyes flicking around the crowd. He lifted his chin to speak to them. “Louis does not feel well,” he told them. “I am taking him to his room to rest.”

 

Harry’s arm went around his back and in the next moment, Louis was being lifted; carried confidently across the courtyard towards the house.

 

He felt tired and weak and his breath felt shallow but the warmth burned through his malaise to comfort him.

 

//

 

“Have you eaten at all today?” Harry asked sharply as he carried Louis into the parlour to place him on the chaise lounge.

 

Louis folded his arms and pursed his lips stubbornly.

 

“I have not been much in the mood for eating,” he replied quietly.

 

Harry stood beside the chaise and shrugged off his jacket. His fingers moved to untie his ruffled neck tie.

 

“Then I shall make you something now. What do you desire?”

 

Louis rolled his eyes and curled himself up.

 

“I desire nothing,” he replied.

 

Harry flapped out a knitted blanket and draped it over him; testing his forehead.

 

“You are cold. You sat up on the hill for too long without an overcoat,” he reprimanded.

 

“You should have fetched me sooner then,” Louis argued back petulantly.

 

Harry turned from where he had been procuring extra cushions for Louis’ head to rest upon.

 

“Perhaps I should not have fetched you at all,” he suggested, jamming them into place.

 

Louis glared at him with narrowed eyes.

 

“Are you angry at me?” He enquired.

 

Harry’s agitation immediately dissipated; his nostrils flaring as he let out a breath through his nose.

 

“Of course not,” he denied.

 

Louis shifted on the seat; making room for Harry to fit.

 

“Come and lay with me,” he murmured pleadingly.

 

Harry went; slotting into a tight; entwined embrace with the smaller man; seemingly happy now that he had Louis in his arms. He pressed a kiss to Louis’ temple.

 

“I could die happily like this,” he promised.

 

Louis pressed his hands against Harry’s chest.

 

“Why were you angry?”

 

Harry flicked his eyes away with a huff.

 

“I am only worried for your well-being,” he admitted. “You might remember I have always been worried for such a thing.”

 

Louis swallowed. Harry had expressed his concern at his slightness the very first time they had met; inviting him to eat at the Palace until he was no longer hungry.

 

Louis shivered in his arms, earning a tighter hug around his body. Harry’s knee had slipped between his and his thigh brushed up between his own enticingly. It was warm in his arms and loving.

 

“J’taime,” he murmured, lifting his chin to press a tender kiss against Harry’s mouth.

 

“You think speaking in French will exonerate you?”

 

“Je pense qu'il vous convaincra de me pardoner (I think it will convince you to forgive me)…”

 

“There is nothing to be forgiven for,” Harry assured. “I am sorry that you are hurting.”

 

“We are both hurting,” Louis sighed in concession. “And today I left you to deal with everything alone…”

 

“I am used to putting on a pretty face,” Harry smiled gently.

 

Louis reached up to cup his cheek.

 

“You are pretty without having to put it on.”

 

Harry’s smile deepened, along with his dimples.

 

“May I kiss you, kind Sir?”

 

Louis leaned up to instigate the meeting of their mouths; the kiss tender and sweet. Harry’s arms wound tightly around him and their bodies had no room to move; slotted together tightly on the small furniture. Harry’s nose brushed his.

 

“One day soon I will take you to bed,” he promised.

 

Louis smirked, hand slipping down to cup Harry’s ass-cheek.

 

“You forget, rosebud. _I_ shall take _you_ ,” he murmured.

 

Harry growled in his throat but didn’t kiss him again.

 

“For now, we mourn,” he told himself more than Louis.

 

Louis settled back against him with a quiet sigh.

 

//

 

“I was thinking…”

 

Robin lifted his tea-cup to his mouth to slurp at the warm brown liquid.

 

“Oh dear,” Harry teased with a wink.

 

They were all seated around the table for breakfast a few days later; Robin and Liam deciding to extend their stay. Louis and Harry remained in the annexe while their guests enjoyed the house.

 

Robin’s gaze fastened on the diamond ring looped around Louis’ finger.

 

“We should have an unofficial ceremony,” Robin suggested.

 

Louis served up their food and sat beside Harry.

 

“What for?”

 

“For you both,” Robin explained.

 

Liam smiled.

 

“He means like a wedding,” he added to the two confused men.

 

Harry’s brows lifted high on his forehead.

 

“You think that we should-“

 

“You are already betrothed,” Robin reasoned. “May as well have a ceremony to formalise it.”

 

Harry looked to Louis.

 

“Would you like to?”

 

Louis looked at Harry and then at his father.

 

“I would like to very much,” he admitted.

 

Harry grinned.

 

“He has always been one for propriety!” Harry cajoled; although Louis would argue because he rather enjoyed Harry’s unbuttoned shirts; untucked from his breeches.

 

“We should wait for the summer,” Louis suggested. “When the fields are gold and the orchard is blooming. We can fix an arch out of the trees.”

 

Harry leaned over to kiss his cheek.

 

“He is already planning it. Like any bride would,” he teased.

 

“You are the _flocon de neige doux_ (sweet snowflake),” Louis’ lips twitched at the endearment.

 

Harry’s smile softened; his eyes reverent upon Louis’ face.

 

“ _Je suis votre bourgeon de rose_.”

 

“I think it is best that I cannot understand any of this,” Robin muttered to the other young couple in the room who laughed at his teasing.

 

Harry sat up a little straighter in his seat; smile tempering. He had almost forgotten they had company.

 

“Thank you, Father,” he appreciated the idea of the ceremony belatedly.

 

//

 

The ceremony took place in the Autumn. The corn reaping season had been busier than expected and Robin had stayed along with Liam and Paula to help out.

 

Harry wore a long-length flocked jacket in cream and gold (his favourite colours) paired with a golden silk waistcoat and white frilled shirt; breeches and slippers to match. Louis wore a subdued bronze ensemble, wearing slippers for the first time in his life.

 

Robin gifted them a set of rings. A large oval diamond for Harry set into a decorative burnished gold frame like that of a mirror that Louis had gasped over when they had looked at it in the jewellery shop. Robin secretly purchased it later and for Louis he bought a simple gold band with filigree carving to compliment his ring from Madeleine.

 

It was a dry but gusty day when they stood under the twined archway; pretty, large white flowers threaded into the willow and ribbons intertwining with the branches. Robin took the helm at the invisible alter, Liam and Paula their only witnesses otherwise.

 

“Louis,” Harry addressed him seriously; voice thick with emotion. “You came into my life unexpectedly and from the start I was bound by your beauty…”

 

Louis blushed, looking to his feet.

 

“You think that I gave up so much to be here with you but I would give up everything to secure your heart,” he confessed. “Today I want to tell you that I have always been yours. And I ask you kindly that you will allow me to make you mine,” he added with an uncharacteristic nervousness causing his breath to catch.

 

Louis stepped forward and slid is hands into Harry’s, glancing at Robin to gauge his comfort with the gesture of affection. Robin only smiled in return.

 

“Harry…I did not expect to find love, least of all with the Prince of England,” he mused softly, earning Harry’s soft smile. “You are and always will be my most beautiful, exquisite rose. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone,” he expressed. “To this day I cannot understand what I have done to deserve you.”

 

The words were plaintive and Harry gripped his hands more tightly; about to reject his self-depreciation.

 

“You have taught me that I deserve so much more,” Louis lifted his chin to finish his speech.

 

“You deserve _everything_ ,” Harry whispered.

 

Louis put a finger to his lips, eyes sparkling.

 

“Please be mine, forever,” Louis asked simply.

 

“I shall,” Harry confirmed, finding Louis’ ring in his jacket pocket and sliding it onto his finger; settling it beside his engagement ring.

 

The sovereign still hung around his neck; heavy and beloved.

 

“I shall be yours, also,” Louis slipped Harry’s ring on in return.

 

They both looked to Robin who closed the bible he had read from to open the ceremony.

 

“You may kiss the groom,” he smiled.

 

Harry grinned and snaked an arm around Louis’ waist; hauling him roughly against his body.

 

“Take me,” he whispered against Louis’ ear as Louis grasped his arms for anchorage.

 

Louis slid his fingers onto Harrys jaw to tilt his face into a kiss; cupping his face in both hands when Harry wrapped him in close.

 

“Make me yours,” Harry whispered when they broke apart.

 

Louis felt the answering throb to his words start up in his groin; his breeches feeling altogether too tight suddenly.

 

“Stop whispering sinful words,” Louis begged.

 

“We are taking a short interlude from the festivities,” Harry announced; grasping Louis’ hand to lead him away.

 

“Harry!” Louis gasped, tumbling after him amid Robin’s laughter and Liam’s giggles.

 

“Well, we must consummate the wedding,” Harry mused as Louis fell into a quick pace beside him.

 

//

 

Unbuttoning their suits had taken far too long.

 

Louis took longer to worship Harry’s body; to soften him and stretch him pleasurably for their love-making.

 

Harry had gotten onto his back so that he could wrap his long legs around Louis’ waist and Louis eased into his tight heat with the same tempered pace they had taken to get to this moment.

 

“O-oh,” Harry swallowed, arching his hips so that Louis could sink deeper.

 

Louis kissed him; sliding out and then into him again; hot and slick.

 

“Mine, now,” Louis murmured, blue eyes dark with lust.

 

Harry’s met his and clung to them.

 

“Yours,” his curled lashes hit his cheeks; body quivering under the taut pleasure Louis was affording him. He sighed; nostrils flaring as he gasped air back in when Louis filled him once more.

 

“My Princess,” Louis’ voice rasped in his ear.

 

Harry groaned and clutched at the heat inside him.

 

“Always,” he promised, weakly.

 

Louis kissed him; thrust into him when he begged and slowed down to the gentlest stroke when Harry wrapped a hand around himself; choking out his need to release.

 

“Louis, please,” Harry begged breathlessly as Louis sank into him and stayed deep; kissing him as deeply after.

 

Louis slipped his hand away and procured more oil before tightening his own hand around Harry’s heat. Harry’s hips lifted off the bed; chest flushed and breath catching. The move brought Louis deeper within him and it was all he could do to slide his hand quickly over his hot; tight skin to end his pleasured torture.

 

“Let me feel you then, Princess,” Louis coaxed him gently.

 

When Harry hit his pinnacle; his muscles flexed enticingly around Louis, triggering his own release; one that surged into Harry’s warm body; making the other man moan throatily as he splashed hotly over both of their bodies.

 

His big hands reached out blindly and Louis pressed them against his skin; one on his cheek and the other against his chest as he sucked in air desperately; body now sagging in sated comfort. Louis gently unwrapped his legs and lowered him lovingly to the mattress; cleaning up their mess the best he could manage with his discarded shirt.

 

“They shall know we ruined our wedding clothes making love,” Harry commented in a deep voice as Louis moved to lay beside him.

 

Harry made a disapproved noise in his throat and flopped his legs open for Louis to crawl back between them; carefully lowering himself against Harry’s naked body, a small, tender kiss placed to his swollen lips.

 

“I am a Tomlinson now,” Harry whispered. “I shall take your name and change mine with the registry.”

 

“Harry, no,” Louis frowned, stroking back his sweat-curled fringe. “You are born into nobility, you must not erase that.”

 

“I am yours,” Harry replied, tightening his arms around Louis’ waist. “I just promised as much.”

 

Louis swallowed and nodded, kissing him again meaningfully.

 

“If you desire it, I should be very honoured.”

 

“I desire _you_ ,” Harry winked, smile growing slowly like the heat pressed against Louis’ hip.

 

“So soon?” Louis gasped.

 

Harry only shrugged, pursing his lips.

 

“You are even more attractive now that you are my husband.”

 

Louis kissed him again eagerly; tongue dipping into his mouth to deepen the kiss. Their love had already deepened; was now locked tight and secure in a bond made of gold rings. Nothing would part them of that he was sure.

 

“ _Belle rose, nous avons l'éternité pour faire l'amour_ (Beautiful rose, we have eternity to make love).” He whispered against Harry’s lips.

 

Harry moaned, voice husky when he replied.

 

“ _Alors commençons maintenant_ (Then let us start now.)”

 


End file.
